
DEAR MAUDE

Denise Liebig
DEAR MAUDE

Copyright © 2012 Denise Liebig

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without written permission from its publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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This book is dedicated to my husband, Doug,

for letting me do my thing.

~ * ~

# Prologue

**TODAY'S THE DAY** I bury my journal—not because it's dead, but because it needs to live. This is the only way.

I was so naïve when I first started writing in it. What it became—what _I_ became—hardly can be described in words, but they are all I have. So it is with words that I begin.

My name is Emily Stanton. I was born in Portland, Oregon, to a free-spirited liberal arts major who chose to give me life over completing her part-time college career. It seemed to be a hereditary decision, handed down from her mother. Her parents, Papa Bob and Nana Rosie, were self-proclaimed "Children of the Universe," a title they used to describe their often misunderstood lifestyle, which included a year-long adventure from their studies, starting in the summer of 1966. That all ended on a rainy day in March 1967, when the weight Nana Rosie had put on in the winter produced a seven-pound, four-ounce baby girl—my mother. Nana always said the clouds parted when they heard my mom cry, so they named her Sunny. After that, Papa Bob went on to medical school, and Nana Rosie, a former sociology student, stayed home to raise Sunny, the most important human-interest project of her life. Fascinated with her every movement, change, and mood, Nana recorded Sunny's life in journals—volumes of them.

That is where I inherited my love of journal writing. It is both a blessing and a curse, as all love is.

# Chapter One

**I REMEMBER IT** vividly—Saturday, April 7, 2012. Although I didn't know it at the time, that date would mark the end of my world.

The morning began shrouded by an overcast sky that hung heavily over the campus of Carlston University in Upstate New York. The desolate, dew-covered lawns and pathways, winding endlessly around the school, were devoid of footprints that might have indicated any sign of life. That wasn't unusual, though, especially on a morning after several Easter-themed frat parties. In fact, most sensible people were sleeping soundly in their dorms, with the unfortunate exception of my roommate, Sophia, whom no one would ever accuse of being sensible. Instead, she was intent upon consuming our dorm room—its floor space and air space—as if it existed only for her. I suppose, in her mind, that was exactly why it was created.

Her high-pitched voice could cut through any material with razor-like precision. It was deadly, and she was well versed (literally) in its use and effectiveness. No manner of pillow or blanket could escape its wrath; even mattresses were no match for her glass-breaking, shrill tone.

I thought—or at least hoped—I was dreaming.

"Em..."

The sound whispered, then drifted in the air, as if floating on the breeze.

"Emi..."

It grew stronger.

"Emily?"

The almost metallic noise belched its hot breath unmistakably in my ear.

"Emily Stanton!"

"What?" I barked toward the offending sound, my face fixed in a morning grimace.

"Look, I'm sorry to wake you, but..."

I opened my eyes to see Sophia squatting only inches from my dorm room bed.

"I have been up all morning working on my lit paper, and I'm completely freaked out!"

_Great. Here we go!_ I fluffed my pillow and sat up against it in preparation for another one of Sophia's rants.

"I have a sociology paper due Tuesday, a chemistry exam and a math quiz on Monday, and my lit teacher thought it would be 'fun' to write 'a few' pages about a haunted house! It's April!" The words spewed from Sophia's mouth like steam from a boiling tea kettle.

Still half-asleep, I stared blankly at my overwrought, finger-quote-wielding roommate. Her voice rose with every word as she paced the floor of our dorm room, alternately gesturing at the door and the window with every turn. The movement suddenly made me feel nauseous. I quickly swung my legs out of bed and placed my sock-covered feet on the carpet, then slowly drew my head between my knees. "I think I'm going to be sick," I moaned.

Sophia, oblivious to my comment, continued her descent into the absurd.

I closed my eyes in an attempt to block out Sophia's pacing, but the room began to spin. My ears rang like a church bell on Sunday morning, forcing me to my feet. I reached the door in two steps, flung it open, and narrowly missed Sophia in the process. I rushed into the hall, fighting to balance myself as I made my way to the restroom, where my stomach contents quickly reminded me of my overindulgence at the frat party the night before.

Several flushes and twenty minutes later, I left the cold comfort of the tile floor and sought the closest sink to rinse my mouth and splash water on my face.

When I was finished, I looked up at the mirror, pushed the wet hair from my face, and let it fall back in blonde strings that rested limply along my shoulders and back.

"Apparently waterproof doesn't mean hangover-proof," I mumbled to the mascara-covered face staring back at me. "I'm even patriotic." I strained closer to examine my normally clear, blue eyes that now were bloodshot and swollen.

After several failed attempts to remove the mascara with a wet paper towel, I weakly shuffled back to my room.

"Wow! You look like hell," Sophia said, then quickly resumed her tirade. "So I got up super early to try to get it all done, but I can't stand anything I've written so far." She plopped down dramatically on her bed.

I was still in the doorway, squinting at the alarm clock to see the time. "Six o'clock?" I screamed into the room, closing the door behind me. "Are you crazy? It's Saturday!" I directed my attention toward the dorm room sink and my toothbrush.

Two brushings and a thorough face washing drowned out the accelerating complaints of Sophia. Once I was done, I shuffled to my bed, unfluffed my pillow, and resumed my previous sleeping position with my back to her.

"Well?" Sophia asked in disgust.

"What now?" I mumbled into my pillow.

"Can you help me?"

"With what?"

"With what? What do you mean, with what? With my lit paper!" she screamed at the back of my head. "Weren't you listening?"

I had hoped the question was rhetorical, but in an effort to get myself closer to my goal of getting Sophia to stop talking, I took a deep breath into my pillow and offered her the only reasonable response I could muster: "Maybe you haven't noticed here, Soph, but I'm a little hungover. Thanks for disturbing me. If you had really wanted my help, you would have let me sleep. Now, I'm useless."

Sophia ignored my comment. "Oh, come on Em. You're so much better at writing than I am."

I could hear the syrup in her voice and turned my head slightly to catch her flashing her world-famous dental work in my direction.

"Whatever, Soph, it's not working," I muttered, turning back to the wall.

After a long pause and an even longer moan-like sigh, Sophia finally blurted, "Okay, what do you want?"

_Want?_ I was attempting to fall asleep until her words caught my attention. "Huh?"

"You know what I mean. What do you want?" Unable to hide her frustration behind her teeth or her money as she was so accustomed, the real Sophia reared her ugly head with condescension and impatience.

The cobwebs continued to clear in my head as I once again fluffed my pillow, propped myself up against it, and slowly processed the potential of the opportunity unfolding before me. "How much do you need to write?" I asked.

"Just a page."

"If it's that short, why can't _you_ write it?"

I thought that Sophia's money wrote all her papers. Then, I remembered her sometimes boyfriend and paper-writing partner in crime. "Or what about Nathan? Don't tell me you broke up with him again."

"Whatever, Emily," Sophia snapped.

"Fine." I slid down my pillow while pulling my blankets up to my chin.

"Yes, okay? There. I said it. Yes," she sputtered, then folded her hands in a praying gesture. "Come on, Emily! Daddy's coming to town tonight for Easter, and he's taking me shopping tomorrow. I'll never get all of this done by then."

_Daddy_. Sophia both feared and worshiped her father and would do anything to please him. I stared at her for a few seconds, trying to search my hungover brain for something I could use against her. Unfortunately, my head felt as if it had been flushed down the toilet minutes before; I had nothing.

"Really, Emily, are you going to help me or not?"

"Just show me the assignment and whatever you've written already." I groaned, fighting another wave of nausea on the heels of my missed opportunity to play the Daddy card.

Sophia walked to her desk, shuffled through some papers, and handed me two.

I skimmed the scribbled pages. _What a train wreck!_ "I think I wrote better than this in kindergarten," I said to the papers, "before I learned to read."

Sophia was humorless by nature and acknowledged my attempt at a joke with a loud, "Humph!" as she continued to pace the floor.

I laughed and tried to turn my attention back to the nightmare assignment in front of me, but the constant movement of my roommate proved too much for my stomach. I felt as if I were having an out-of-body experience as I suddenly and instinctively flung my blankets back, dropped the papers onto the bed, and attempted to exit the room. Instead, the sound of muffled voices in the hallway caused me to seek the comfort of my dorm room sink as a convenient alternative to a run of shame to the restroom.

Sophia gagged at the sink-side scene while she stuffed her other homework into her backpack. "I'll be in the library all day. Just give me something I can turn in," she said from behind the hand she had firmly cupped around her nose and mouth.

I ignored her as I gripped the sides of the sink for support.

Not waiting for a reply, she slammed the door behind her.

After cleaning the sink several times, I shuffled across the floor to open the window and air out the stuffy, stench-filled room. I took several deep breaths, then returned to my bed and bent down to swat Sophia's writing assignment onto the floor before climbing in.

Fortunately for me, most of our other neighbors had been out late as well, so the dorm remained quiet for most of the morning. After several hours of uninterrupted sleep, I awakened in a better frame of mind and body. Two large bottles of water and a long, hot shower later, I was ready to start on my homework.

My conversation with Sophia seemed in the distant past, and I chose to address her writing assignment by walking around the papers that had been deposited on the floor earlier. It quickly became a habit to step around and ignore the sheets. By the afternoon, I was finished with my own homework and was leaving the room when I accidently stepped on one of the pages.

"Oh, you again," I said from above.

I stared at the papers for several seconds before bending down to pick them up. If only I had known what would transpire as the result of such a simple act, I would have left them in their place. Unfortunately, I didn't know.

Instead, I turned the assignment over in my hands several times, growing angrier with each flip of the page. _She thinks she can buy her way through school! I worked too hard to get here—and I just can't stand cheaters!_

I fought the urge to crumple the sheets in my hands, but curiosity overcame me. As I started to read, I glanced at the bottom of the assignment page and noticed a sentence that brought a smile to my face. "Ha!"

I sat on the floor and reread the sentence aloud: "This assignment is for extra credit only." I giggled and skimmed the page again. "I love it! She deserves this."

Sophia and I had been roommates since our freshman year in college. One of the conditions of my scholarship was to live on campus all four years. It seemed reasonable until my junior year, when all of my friends escaped the dorm life and rented apartments in town. Another condition of my scholarship was that I could not have a vehicle on campus. Soon, my friends moved on without me, and I was stuck with the only other senior who was not allowed to live off campus—Sophia. Her father thought it was safer for her to live in the dorms. Ironically, she usually lived with her boyfriends and seldom spent any time in our room, except when she was between relationships.

"She needs a new boyfriend!" I exhaled loudly into Sophia's assignment. "And I need to make sure she never asks me to help her again."

After spending several minutes on the floor contemplating the many ways in which my life would improve without Sophia in it, I heard my appetite finally return with a grumble. I stood and stretched, then locked the writing assignment safely in my desk before leaving the dorm in search of a late lunch. Deep in thought about Sophia's assignment, I did not realize she was screaming my name until I had almost reached the student union.

"Stanton?" She was standing near the entrance with her hands on her hips, surrounded by an entourage of her equally annoying friends.

I jumped back at the sound of my name in that unmistakably irritating screech that only Sophia could deliver and nearly stumbled into a bench in front of the building.

Sophia's friends laughed as she asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Why?" I quickly recovered and edged closer to the door.

She ran toward me. "Hello? My paper!"

If it were possible to hear the last thread of my patience snap, it would have made a resounding _twang_ that echoed loudly in all directions. I was finished. I was hungry, tired, and annoyed by the needs of that over-indulged, under-educated brat. I really didn't care for Sophia's friends or what they thought of me, and I was beyond tired of the way she treated me in public. I had nothing to lose.

I stepped defiantly toward Sophia, making her stop several feet from me. "Aren't you supposed to be in the library?" I didn't wait for an answer. "Maybe if you made a habit of spending a little more time there and less time being social, you might have already finished it yourself!"

"Is it done?" she asked, ignoring my response.

I pretended to look around nervously. "What is wrong with you?" I whispered. "Do you want to get caught?" I reached for the door to the student union. "We'll talk about this in the room."

She stepped closer, until her nose was almost touching mine. "We'll talk about it _now_!"

"No, we won't. I'm hungry, and I need to eat!" I pushed past her and entered the building.

"Meet me in an hour!" she called after me, her fists clenched at her sides.

"I guess you don't own her after all," her friend Katie said, giggling sarcastically.

Sophia scowled in reply as she walked back to the group.

# Chapter Two

**AN HOUR LATER** , I was still in the student union, staring at the clock on the wall. It's only been an hour. I'll wait another twenty minutes, then think about going back to the room.

Forty-five minutes later, as I was scouring the bottom of my purse for change to buy a brownie, I came across my dead cell phone. "Oops!" I said with a smile. I envisioned Sophia pacing our room, leaving me new voice mails and texts with every turn.

I made slow progress back to the dorm, relishing every bite of my brownie and making plans for that evening with several passersby. I took the last bite as I approached my building. _That was good._ I stared at the empty wrapper as I entered the front doors. _I want another one._ Then I remembered the two lint-covered pennies and sticky dime I found earlier in the bottom of my purse. _Sophia's lucky I don't have more change and that I promised my family I would avoid using my plastic whenever possible. Otherwise, I'd be following my craving back to the student union._

As I entered the dorm, I intentionally passed the elevator and headed for the stairwell. Taking some of the stairs one at a time and others up one and down two, I finally reached my fifth-floor dorm room, just in time to see Sophia stomping in the opposite direction, heading down the hall to the restroom.

"Am I late?" I mumbled to myself sarcastically. I opened the door and walked to my desk to retrieve the writing assignment locked inside.

"Two and a half hours?" Sophia screamed only moments later from the open doorway. Her hands were on her hips as she stormed into the room. "My father will be here any minute to pick me up! Do you have any idea how much he despises waiting?"

I didn't care, and might not have voiced it, but the sugar from my brownie was kicking in. That, coupled with the screaming-roommate routine, caused an adrenaline rush that seemed to be settling in my mouth. "Well, I—"

"Is this it? she asked, staring at the papers in my hand. Without waiting for a reply, she lunged forward.

I whipped the sheets behind me and quickly stuffed them underneath me and sat on my desk.

Sophia's arms flailed around me like an octopus, trying to rip the papers free.

"Listen!" I screamed.

"What?" she barked back, only inches from my face.

"We-have-not-a-greed-up-on-the-terms." I enunciated through gritted teeth, just staring at her nearly purple, enraged face in front of me. "Go-close-the-door."

Sophia obeyed, then stood against it, glaring at me while gripping the knob behind her in an obvious attempt to regain her composure. "What do you want?"

I hadn't actually bothered to revisit that question before that moment, but Sophia's behavior seemed to spark nasty thoughts deep within the bowels of my imagination. Thinking on my feet, I gave her the only answer that came to mind at the time: "You asked if I have any idea how your dad despises waiting. I was going to say that I don't know. In fact, I know nothing about your father. The terms, therefore, are that I want to meet him."

"What!?" Sophia lost her grip on the doorknob.

"I said—"

"Of course I heard you, you idiot! _Why_ do you want to meet my father?"

"Because I do. Decide now, or I'll destroy the assignment." I maintained eye contact while I reached down to turn on the paper shredder.

"Fine," Sophia said. "Now, give it to me."

I handed her the papers.

Her face reddened again as she stared down at them. "What is this?"

"The stuff you gave me earlier. I'll give you the assignment after I've met your father." Then, another thought popped into my head. "In fact, I really didn't get enough to eat today. I think you need to invite me to dinner too."

Sophia's face grew even more inflamed as she looked from the papers to me. "I hate you! How do I even know you wrote it?"

"You don't," I said, trying not to grin. "However, I'm your only hope."

Sophia threw the papers on the floor and rushed toward her cell phone. She snapped it up and began to scroll violently until she finally pressed a button on the phone face and put it up to her ear. "Hi, Daddy. It's me." She spoke in the best Daddy-can-I-borrow-the-keys-to-the-car voice I'd ever heard. "Well, I was wondering if my roommate could come with us tonight."

I smiled and rolled my eyes.

"Oh please, Daddy! Please?"

Several seconds of anticipation later, my ears were rewarded with, "Daddy, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" followed by, "I love you. We'll see you in half an hour." She ended the call and just stared at the phone in her hand.

"What a performance!" I screamed with laughter. "You're good."

"Well, your paper had better be worth it."

I nodded in satisfaction. "Oh, it will be."

Sophia stood with her gaze fixed on me for several seconds before running to the outlet near the sink to plug in her curling iron. She mumbled under her breath as she opened her closet door and began to shuffle her hangers along the rod, pausing every few seconds to look in my direction before resuming her work in the closet. "Do you own nylons?" she finally asked.

I thought briefly. "No, why?"

"Good God, Emily. Are you clueless?" Her eyebrows were tense above two glaring blue eyes, and her hands were firmly planted on her hips. "My dad is coming in less than half an hour, and I need to make you presentable." Sophia turned back to her closet, produced a new package of nylons from one of her drawers, and tossed it to me. "Put these on."

Although she wasn't the most academic student I knew, Sophia was the best dressed, so, trusting her judgment in the fashion arena, I caught the nylons and began to put them on.

"Eew!" She shivered while glaring sideways at me. "My God, you could French braid your shins!"

I surveyed my legs and looked up just in time to catch the two disposable razors she tossed at me.

"You'll probably need them both...maybe even a lawnmower," she added. She scowled at my legs again, then let her gaze travel toward my shoulders. "By the way, you're going sleeveless, so be sure to take care of ev-ery-thing."

I lifted my arms to look at my pits, but Sophia's attention was already drawn back to her open closet.

"You have five minutes, Em," she said with her back to me. "Hurry...but don't cut yourself."

_Dictator!_ I collected my robe, undies, shower gear, and razors, and went in search of a free shower stall. In less than five minutes, I returned, showered and smooth. I stopped short of fully entering the room to stare, unenthused, at the simple black dress lying limply on my bed.

Noticing my disappointment, Sophia offered, in an exaggerated British accent, "Sorry, luv. No time to dilly-dally. We'll just accessorize." Wasting no time, she placed both hands firmly on my shoulders, pulled me into the room, and ordered me to put the dress on, while simultaneously slamming the door closed with her foot.

Although we had been roommates for almost four years, we never dressed in front of each other. Sophia was usually at her boyfriend's and only used the dorm room as a glorified storage spot for last season's wardrobe. So, when I removed my robe, she gasped in surprise.

"Wow, Emily! You look great!"

"Well, I do enjoy my lingerie." I was not interested in fashion, but I did appreciate fine undergarments and bought most of my things online, including the black lace bra and matching panties I was wearing.

"Yeah, that's nice, but I meant your body." Sophia turned me toward the full-length mirror on the inside panel of her closet door. "Why don't you show it off more?" She stared at my reflection. "I figured you dress like a frump because you have something to hide. I never would have guessed it was a model's body."

Sophia's compliment was a new experience for me, one I didn't like. While I was growing up, looks weren't exactly stressed in my family—or even discussed, for that matter. Although my relatives were all fairly attractive, it was often difficult to tell behind the beards or long hair, and miles of crazy fabrics that seemed to cover them all. Looks were a non-issue and having attention drawn to me made me uncomfortable, eventually becoming my Achilles' heel. Worse, if an attractive guy happened to be added to the mix, I would turn all shades of red at once and melt slowly into a puddle of my own mortification. It was my personal hell.

Therefore, as I stood before the mirror, I felt a bit foolish, fighting the rising blush that would soon transform my face into a beet-like banner of humiliation. _What is she talking about? Look at me? No, look at her!_ I couldn't help but admire Sophia's straight black hair and pale skin that surrounded a pair of almost violet-blue eyes. _She looks like a celebrity._

As I again looked at my own reflection, I studied my wet hair, an enviable natural shade of blonde that was neither straight nor curly. In fact, to get it to take either shape required more time and effort than I was willing to give, so I frequently wore it in a ponytail. Then, I surveyed my thin build with its proportionate curves—or a lack thereof as I now began to scrutinize my figure. Compliments not only made me nervous, but they caused me to question the motives of the person who offered them.

I turned to examine my profile in the mirror. _Sophia hates me, so why is she being so nice?_ Engrossed in my internal dialogue, I absently put on the dress Sophia handed me, then rolled the nylons over my legs before sitting in a chair near the sink. Standing behind me, she blow-dried and curled my hair like a professional, giving it a long, oxygen-replacing shot of hairspray upon completion. I fanned the air and coughed several times as she pulled another chair in front of me and sat down to apply makeup to my virgin face, which had never ventured beyond mascara and lipstick.

"I have skin allergies," I said.

"Not tonight, you don't." After a few more minutes, Sophia exclaimed, "Perfect!" before checking her watch. "Ten minutes." She ran to her closet and squatted before it to rummage through the boxes at the bottom. Her hunt soon produced a pair of black stilettos, which she handed to me and said, "Practice."

Meanwhile, Sophia donned a form-fitting electric blue cocktail dress that resembled something that belonged on a Milan runway. She quickly freshened up her makeup and slipped on a pair of matching shoes taken from a box on a shelf in her closet. While standing in front of the open doors, she rummaged through her jewelry box and found a white gold and diamond necklace and matching earrings for me, as well as a platinum necklace, earrings, and bracelet set, which dripped crystals like a chandelier, for herself.

"Impressive." I was amazed by the tornado-like transformation Sophia just pulled off and stopped to admire the results prior to searching for my bottle of perfume.

"No, what's impressive is that you can even walk in those shoes," Sophia said, staring in disbelief.

"Well, I guess all those years of ballet finally paid off. God knows that's all I gained from it."

Sophia nodded and handed me a black sequined handbag. "Here. Put your stuff in here. We need to go."

I deposited my ID, money, and cell phone into the small bag, then added the lipstick and compact Sophia gave me.

One more trip to her closet produced a black silk scarf, fringed with rows of black glass beads for me and a shimmery, electric blue silk one for herself. I had always been inept when it came to fashion, so I watched and copied Sophia as she draped her scarf along her back, adjusting it evenly from side to side before letting it drop gently onto her forearms.

We admired ourselves a final time in front of the mirror before she gently pushed me toward, then out the door, into the now busy dorm. The noisy hallway grew silent as we walked confidently past our neighbors who stood in speechless amazement. Several wondered who the mystery girl with Sophia was, while most others just stared.

"Wow," I said from the safety of the elevator. "They were looking at me as if they'd never seen me before."

"Quite frankly, Emily, I doubt most of them have." She paused to eye me up and down. "Definitely not this way."

In the lobby, I smiled at my admirers, mostly male, as Sophia and I floated past them toward the limousine that was parked outside the front doors.

_I could get used to this VIP treatment!_ I enjoyed the thought as I walked into the night and entered the empty limo through the door the driver was holding open for us.

"I guess Daddy will meet us there." Sophia's voice sounded flat as she slid into the seat beside me.

"That's okay," I said. "I was hoping to relax a bit before meeting him anyway."

Sophia gave me a puzzled look. She opened her mouth briefly, then quickly closed it and turned away from me toward the window.

_Great. Here we go again._ I should have left it alone, but I needed to know the answer. "What did I say?"

"How is it that, no matter what, you always see the bright side?" Sophia cocked her head to one side. "If the sky was falling, you would say, 'That's okay, I've always wanted to see it up close anyway.'"

I quickly forgot the bonding experience we had just shared as we returned to our usual regard for each other. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, I guess," Sophia said in her usual condescending tone. "It just doesn't make any sense. Not everything is all rainbows and unicorns."

It took most of my self-control and all of my will not to follow the path of the thoughts swarming inside my head. None of them were nice, but all of them involved Sophia and some form of rainbow or unicorn. Instead, I could only scream, "I'm not stupid!"

Sophia shrugged and pretended to adjust her dress. "No, just....naïve"

I couldn't believe my ears. "Really?" I asked. "Why? Because you have it so tough?"

"You have no idea!"

"Right. Well, you have no idea about me either, so stop judging me!"

"Oh, I know _plenty_ about you," Sophia said, continuing to fuss with her dress.

"Yeah? Like what?" In the years since we had been roommates, I never told Sophia a thing about myself. She never asked, and I never offered. She didn't even know my favorite color—which was green, by the way. Therefore, I was more than eager to hear what fabrication she was going to try to sell me.

"Like—"

Sophia was interrupted by the sound of screeching tires as the limo came to an abrupt stop, the force of which flung us out of our seats and onto the floor of the vehicle.

"What was that?" she asked. "And where did my purse go?" She looked down at the floor of the limo, then fumbled for the light.

The chauffeur caught her attention through his rearview mirror. "A noisy, black cat!"

With that, she abruptly stopped her search for the light and sat stiffly in her seat near the window.

I located the dome light and looked over at the pale face of my roommate, caught in a frozen stare with the driver. The fear on Sophia's face and the angry eyes of the driver in the rearview mirror sent an involuntary shudder through me, one that chilled me to the bone. I hugged the scarf around me as I scooted onto the floor to recover the contents of my spilled purse, brushed my knees off, and returned to my seat. The driver and Sophia seemed to be at an impasse in their staring contest, so I reached for Sophia's purse and scarf on the floor and placed them on the seat next to her. After turning off the light, I tried to focus on the world outside the window, but I was drawn to the chauffeur's eyes; they seemed to pierce the darkness, causing me to pull my scarf even tighter around my shoulders.

"Won't we be late?" I asked, weakly.

That finally broke the spell between the driver and Sophia.

The chauffeur suddenly stepped on the gas, running a yellow light as he sped through an intersection, narrowly missing the opened door of a driver attempting to exit his parked car.

I had never been a fan of amusement park rides, especially ones that spun, jiggled, or jerked. Although that particular limo ride had already covered all that, I figured it was just a matter of time before it added inverted to the list. I quickly reached behind me on the seat in search of a seatbelt as the driver ran a stop sign and turned left on less than four tires, amid fleeing pedestrians in the crosswalk. The angry horns of other drivers filled the air as we sped into the night. "Psycho cat lover," I mumbled through gritted teeth. Finding no seatbelts, I grabbed the door handle in an effort to keep from sliding off the seat and rolling along the floor like a pinball.

The limo once again came to an abrupt halt, that time in front of a restaurant, a few feet from the awning that marked its entrance. The driver closed the privacy window that separated him from his passengers and remained seated, making no effort to open the back door for us.

Sophia opened the door and stepped out, then graciously accepted the hand of the restaurant doorman who lent his assistance in the driver's absence.

Once Sophia was safely on the sidewalk and heading for the front door, I exited the limo, offering a cold, shaky hand to the gloved doorman. Trying to balance my wobbly legs on stiletto heels proved more of a challenge than I expected, and I stumbled twice exiting the vehicle. Supported by the doorman, I was escorted to the lobby of the restaurant. "I'm good," I said, flashing the best smile I could offer, despite being humiliated to the core.

Although it wasn't the red carpet entrance I was hoping for, I greeted the visibly amused maître d' as if nothing was wrong. "Hello!"

"Having a nice evening, are we?" she asked in a fake accent that seemed both French and British with a Cockney twist.

"The best!" I pretended to be oblivious to her sarcasm.

Still in the entrance, Sophia excused both of us and pulled me into the restroom with her. "Don't tell daddy about the driver."

"What? That guy's a complete psycho. He shouldn't be driving anything, especially a limo. Don't you think your dad would want to know if someone was being unsafe with you in the car?"

"Promise me now, or I won't introduce you to Daddy."

"What about your paper?"

"I'll take the F," she said, her tone uncharacteristically calm, almost resigned.

"Is he your boyfriend or something?" I wondered out-loud.

"Just promise me, or I'll say you were sick and needed to take a cab back to campus." Her eyes seemed to pierce my skin.

"Fine," I grumbled, too curious about meeting Sophia's father to disagree.

"Here. Fix your face." She handed me a pouch full of makeup.

I looked at my smudged lipstick and mascara in the mirror and stepped back in horror. With some effort and a lot of assistance from Sophia, I left the restroom looking much more presentable than when I entered.

Back at the entrance, we were again greeted by the maître d', who did a double-take at me before selecting two enormous, black menus from behind a podium and escorting us to our table.

The interior of the restaurant resembled an English conservatory, with comfortably cushioned chairs surrounding cloth-clad, iron tables. Potted trees and plants separated the tables and created a sense of privacy for those dining in the restaurant. I admired Sophia for her skills in the makeup department, because many conversations stopped, and silverware, suspended in mid-air, failed to bring food to the open mouths of several admiring men as we followed the maître d' through the restaurant.

Our empty table bore four place settings and was positioned away from the others in an alcove surrounded by floor-to-ceiling leaded-glass windows. I rounded the table to the left and chose a seat by the window, while Sophia chose the other window seat to my right.

"I guess we're early." She gazed at her watch as the maître d' pushed in her chair and handed her a menu. "And I have no idea who else is joining us."

Don't look at me!

But Sophia was too preoccupied staring at the empty seats to even notice my existence.

Once I was seated for a few minutes and started to regain my composure, I realized that I didn't even know what restaurant I was in. I didn't recognize the interior, and our violent curbside entrance reduced our arrival to sheer survival rather than sightseeing. I could only refer to the cover of the beast of a menu in my hands, which read, "The Garden." It was the kind of place my grandparents would have protested against for promoting the cruel fattening of ducks in cages or being mean to snails. I decided to keep it to myself.

Just to be safe, though, after a brief look at the price-devoid menu, I located a protest-proof salad that boasted wild-caught salmon, which would have even made my grandparents proud. Relieved, I removed the napkin from the table, spread it across my lap, and rested the massive tome in its place.

With the business out of the way, my eyes were drawn to the windows beside and behind me. From that moment forward, I was transfixed. My eyes seemed to have a mind of their own and couldn't stop staring at the scene around me. Despite the darkness, it was beautiful, almost magical. Hundreds of tiny gold lights adorned the trees and shrubs in the garden just outside the glass. My eyes traveled from the trees to the rose garden that boasted abundant quantities of roses in varying shapes and colors, swaying in the gentle breeze that had just begun to stir. I was so focused on the garden that it took the touch of Sophia's hand on mine to draw my attention back to my seat.

"Emily?"

As I turned toward Sophia, I noticed a figure out of the corner of my eye, standing at the edge of the table. His presence startled me and made me jump slightly in my chair. I quickly hid my embarrassment by smiling brightly up at the man.

_So much for first impressions_. But that thought came before I actually looked at him.

When our eyes met, I immediately felt the color drift up my neck to my face. He was gorgeous. In his early twenties and tall, he had a muscular physique that was evident even through his finely tailored suit. His brow and facial structure were strongly Germanic, softened by a broad smile containing rows of perfectly straight, white teeth, and complemented by full lips. _And those eyes!_ They were a deep blue that invaded my being like the still waters of an ancient stream. The look was completed by locks of light brown hair that waved in all the right places and fell just below his ear lobes. As with all attractive men I'd met throughout my life, I lost my composure and regressed to my earlier, shier days. Hello, Achilles heel! As a child, I hid behind my mother or grandparents, hoping to avoid any form of conversation, but without them there to shield me, all I could do was blush.

_I hope he's the waiter._ I felt the sweat forming on my brow.

"Gerd, how good of you to join us!" Sophia cooed at the smiling man, who bent down to kiss her on the cheek. "Oh, and this is my roommate, Emily."

_Dang!_ I cursed myself as I offered a soggy hand for him to shake.

Instead, he took my outstretched hand, bowed dramatically, and kissed the class ring that occupied my pinkie finger.

Drool!

My hot face felt a deeper shade of crimson as I withdrew my hand with an embarrassed giggle and placed it and my pride on my lap.

Adding to my distress, Gerd chose the seat to my left, but his attention was diverted momentarily by the sudden approach of the maître d'.

"Sorry, sir. Please excuse my rudeness." She filled the alcove with her now distinctly French accent. "I didn't see you arrive!"

" _Je vous pardonne, ma cherie_ ," he replied fluently to her suddenly expressionless face.

"Your menu, sir," she nearly whispered in a voice devoid of any accent.

" _Merci_!" He took the menu with another broad smile as the maître d' nearly ran from the table toward the podium.

Similar to our hostess, I couldn't speak French either, but I didn't care. Gerd was amazing, and her appearance was just the distraction I needed to fan myself with a napkin and regain my composure and complexion.

"Daddy didn't mention you were coming, Gerd. What a nice—"

Sophia was interrupted by the approach of the maître d' again, accompanied by an attractive, middle-aged man. He stood nearly six feet tall, with a stocky build and thinning brown hair. His dark blue suit was visibly expensive, tailored perfectly to fit his form. The yellow and blue patterned silk tie caught my eye, and my gaze remained there. _Where have I seen that tree pattern before?_ I was equally captivated by the platinum and diamond tie pin and matching cuff links.

Gerd immediately stood to exchange handshakes with the man, who then bent down to kiss Sophia's cheek.

"Hi, Daddy!" she said in exchange.

He stared at me for several seconds and, without introductions, stepped behind Gerd and offered me his hand. I stood to shake it but was pulled into a hug, followed by a kiss on each cheek. "Nice to finally meet you, Emily," he boomed down at me. His breath reeked of alcohol and cigars.

I tried not to inhale. "Thank you. Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Winston."

"Call me George," he said with a smile, then turned and walked toward his seat. "Now, where's that waiter with my drink?"

I was so surprised by George's actions that I was already seated before I realized I had failed to blush. In fact, it was the first time I could recall not changing colors when first meeting an attractive man. The whole situation was unnerving and left me speechless, so I opened my menu and used its bulk to cover my face and confer with my inner voice: _Who are these people, and why did I want to meet them again?_

"Where is the waiter?" George demanded.

I lowered the menu to study George, who had turned to look at the restaurant behind him. His furrowed brow made his brown eyes seem beady, almost bear-like. His hairy fingers tapped the table in a fluid, seemingly well-rehearsed movement that grew louder with his impatience. Periodically, the tapping would cease as he checked his diamond-embedded watch and loudly proclaimed the time to those unfortunate enough to be within earshot.

_How embarrassing!_ I eyed the other two at the table, but neither Sophia nor Gerd seemed to notice George's display; either that, or they chose to ignore it as they continued to read their menus. _They must be used to it._

The tapping and proclamations soon stopped, however, with the sudden appearance of a disheveled waiter.

"It's about time," George growled.

I couldn't resist staring at the waiter, who placed a cocktail on the table in front of George.

"My apologies, sir!"

"What's this?"

"It's...it's your drink, sir."

"No, it isn't. I clearly asked for a double on the rocks. This pale imitation you have just deposited before me is nothing more than a watered down single shot of whatever well drink the bartender has substituted!"

With that, George violently rose from his seat, nearly knocking the chair to the floor. While standing, he removed the glass from the table in a swift swipe and held it several feet from his chest in an exaggerated gesture of disgust.

The waiter jumped backward just in time to miss being ram-rodded by George's extended arm as he stomped noisily past him, heading toward the bar.

I absently closed the menu and placed it on my plate, watching in utter amazement as the scene unfolded before me.

The now pale waiter resumed his spot at the head of the table, trying to make eye contact with Sophia. Boy, did I feel sorry for him! He was completely frazzled. He stood before us with his hands clenched behind him, his neatly pressed, long-sleeved white shirt showing signs of the strain near his armpits. The beads of sweat on his brow were starting to descend in streams toward his eyebrows. He was a mess, and his voice was shaky when he asked, "May I bring you something to drink, ma'am?"

Sophia hardly acknowledged the waiter's question. "Champagne, of course."

"All around!" Gerd made a circular motion with his hand.

I couldn't bear to ask for anything different; instead, I just smiled at the poor guy as he briefly made eye-contact with me.

With a muttered, "Thank you," and a small bow, the waiter turned and walked swiftly toward the bar.

His escape was short-lived, however, because just as he arrived at his destination, George brushed past him, nearly spinning him like a top.

"Now, this is what I call a drink," George said, smiling at his glass.

By then, the restaurant and bar were full, with several waiting for tables in over-stuffed, leather chairs near the entrance. All previous conversations ceased at that comment, and people whispered and stared at the triumphant George, who was carrying his drink back to our table like a trophy.

I was glad for the plants that separated our table from the others, and I seriously considered hiding behind them while I watched George stride confidently toward us. The ice clinked against the glass as he firmly placed the drink on the table and resumed his seat. I pretended to look at my menu once more until I heard Sophia slam hers closed.

"Well, I know what I want," she said.

"Me too," I added, but no one seemed to notice or care, especially Sophia, who was now staring at the table.

"My napkin is still on my plate!" She looked around, apparently expecting one of the wait staff to magically spring from a potted plant and deposit the cloth into her lap. No one appeared. "This service stinks!" Without waiting for assistance, Sophia violently whipped the napkin from her plate with her right hand and placed it across her lap. Then, with both hands, she slammed the heavy menu down on her plate with such force that it made the adjacent empty glass fall toward the center of the table.

Before I could react, Gerd planted his blue eyes on me. "Well, at least it wasn't full!"

My reply came out without hesitation, "Right, too bad the menu was." I was unable to think straight with those eyes driving into my brain and soon regretted my words when he let out a loud laugh that filled our little alcove, once again drawing stares from those occupying the other tables.

_Great, Em. Way to go._ I internally kicked myself.

I could feel the blush resuming, coupled with the unacknowledged evil stare from Sophia that I sensed was boring into the side of my face. I felt like a bonfire at midnight.

Gerd continued to look at me as he slowly recovered from my comment. "Do we all know what we want?"

Maybe you didn't hear—

The wink and toothy smile he threw my way made me forget the rest of my thoughts.

"I think so," I finally said, my voice just above a whisper as I fought the dry-mouth that often accompanied my blushing episodes. Most likely, being overheated and dehydrated were contributing factors, but I tried to ignore them.

Fortunately, the waiter soon appeared with our champagne, followed by a younger version of himself, who filled our water glasses. I downed my water as the waiter went through his routine of showing Sophia the bottle, uncorking it, and pouring her the first sip. She elaborately sniffed, swizzled, and sipped her way through the glass, then sent that and two more bottles back until she felt satisfied with the selection. It was my first experience with champagne, so I was at a loss for the whole ceremony. I had always thought that if the cork popped when you opened it, it was good enough to drink. Apparently, that was only part of it, although I was certain Sophia's approach was more a show of excess than anything. In the meantime, my water glass was drained and filled several more times, before they finally left a fancy carafe of ice water on the table in front of me.

After pouring champagne for Gerd and me, the waiter deposited the bottle into a bucket of ice next to Sophia, then began taking our orders. I tried to smile often, hoping to separate myself from the others in the mind of the waiter; I really didn't want him to spit on my dinner. When the order was complete, I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.

George raised his glass. "I propose a toast to our good health and company."

"Cheers!" We chinked our glasses and sipped our drinks.

The amazing, bubbly liquid that filled my mouth was indescribable. Since I had turned twenty-one, I had assumed the consumption of alcohol was little more than a search for the bottom of the glass or bottle. Beer and wine were good enough for me, but at that moment, I realized that taste was a factor in the whole process. That one sip changed everything.

I also realized that if I didn't use the restroom soon, my bladder would explode. I excused myself from the table and sloshed my way to the ladies' room.

In my single-minded effort to leave the table, I lost little time worrying about what the other diners noticed or thought as I worked my way to the restroom. On my return trip, however, I caught a few stares, but nothing could compare to the piercing blue gaze of Gerd as I approached the table. Our eyes locked, and his sucked me into an almost-hypnotic trance that drew me into the alcove that housed our table.

Sophia stared from Gerd to me and back again, like a baffled, then angry ball in a tennis match. By the time I resumed my seat, she was furious. As I was placing the napkin back on my lap, she leaned toward me and gave my elbow a tug to pull me closer to her. "He's mine!"

"Maybe you'd better tell _him_ that!" I snapped, reclaiming my elbow from her grasp.

At that moment, I looked at Gerd, who gave me a wink as he sipped his champagne.

I also took a sip from my glass. Suspicious by nature, I couldn't decide if I was being played by Gerd to annoy Sophia, or if he really did like me. Either way, the champagne tasted good enough to keep me from caring too much.

The appetizers had arrived while I was gone, so Gerd ensured that the plates found their way over to me. I politely tried one of each but decided to stick with the basket of rolls that sat in front of me. My salad was served minutes later, much larger than expected. It didn't appear to have been violated in any way, so I decided to give it a shot. It was delicious.

The dinner conversation was surprisingly boring. Sophia dominated the evening, reminiscing about the many dinner parties, weekends, and summers she had spent with Gerd and their mutual friends. Unfortunately for her, Gerd only offered short replies, if any at all, and they often sounded more like excuses for his bad behavior rather than the boastful admissions she sought. He followed his one-liners with leading questions that included me: "Have you spent time there?" or, "Have you ever tried that?'' or, "What is your favorite...?" Sophia, of course, wouldn't allow the attention drawn from her for long, and she eventually reclaimed the conversation.

After hours of hearing about Sophia's favorite childhood memories, drinking several glasses of champagne, eating way too much salad, and devouring a fudge-covered, double-layered, chocolate piece of heaven, I did what any self-respecting girl would do: I yawned. Unfortunately, it wasn't a dainty one of the delicate variety that could easily be kept under wraps by forcing my lips closed around my teeth. No, that yawn was closer to the kind Papa Bob's blood hound, Rex, showed the world after spending the afternoon sleeping on the front porch. It was juicy and noisy and happened before I could maneuver my hand up to cover it. _How rude!_ I was mortified.

Worse, all eyes were on me.

Again, Gerd stepped in, chuckling but ready to save me from myself. "Oh! Now we've done it. We've lost another one to boredom."

I smiled, bringing my napkin to my mouth to hide a string of new yawns that came on the heels of the first.

Sophia giggled nervously while shooting me a sideways glance.

George stretched and looked around the table. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready to blow."

I wasn't sure if he meant it in the same way that Papa Bob did after a big Sunday dinner, but I wasn't willing to take a chance. I kept the napkin near my nose, just in case. Everyone else, however, seemed to know what he meant, because they folded their napkins on the table in front of them and began to stand. I quickly caught on, and as I rose, Gerd reached behind me to pull my chair out for me.

Drool, again!

"Thank you," I said, then smiled and walked around the table with him.

Sophia sat in her chair, waiting for a similar dismount, but it was George who came to her aid. "Thank you, Daddy," she said, scowling at me.

We slowly proceeded to the front of the restaurant. Apparently the bill wasn't paid, because as we approached the front door, the waiter chased after us with the check in hand, clearing his throat and yelling, "Sir! Excuse me, sir!"

George stopped briefly to allow the waiter to catch up. He pulled a stack of hundreds from a money clip in his pocket and, without counting them, handed them to the waiter, and continued walking. The waiter just stared after us in disbelief as George turned his head slightly in his direction and said, "Keep it!"

_What arrogance!_ I shook my head as I continued toward the exit.

Outside, the same limo as earlier awaited us.

"Goodbye, Daddy!" Sophia planted air kisses on either side of her father's face.

While she was saying her farewell to Gerd, I turned to George. "Dinner was amazing. Thank you."

As I spoke, I reached out to shake George's hand and was again drawn into a big bear hug.

"Glad to see that Sophia has some normal friends," George said with a grin. "I'll be disappointed if you don't join us for dinner the next time I'm in town."

I smiled. "Well, thank you. That would be very nice."

"What time are we going shopping tomorrow?" Sophia interrupted.

"Shopping?" George asked, arching his eyebrows, clearly having forgotten their plans.

"Daddy, you promised!" Sophia stamped a foot in protest.

George quickly recovered. "Oh, yes, shopping. You're right. Well, we'll get an earlier start if you come back to the hotel with me."

"But—"

"Yes, great idea, George. Glad I thought of it!" He chuckled to himself, then pointed to the limo driver. "I took a cab here, so let's just have Charles take us to the hotel, shall we?" He turned to Gerd. "And how did you get here?"

"I drove."

"Well, that settles it. We'll take the limo to the hotel, and you can take Emily to the school. You don't mind. Do you, Gerd?"

Sophia suddenly paled.

"Of course not," he said. "It would be my pleasure."

"Goodbye," I called to Sophia as her father bustled her into the limo and waved, before the driver closed the door and sped away.

Although the look on Sophia's face made me stifle a giggle, my pleasure soon turned to fear once it sunk in that I had been left alone with Gerd. For my entire life, I'd vowed to myself that I would not become like my mother and grandmother and pass up a college education for motherhood. _No, not me. I'm different_. Now, I stood next to an almost physically perfect specimen of manhood, absolutely unable to make any form of conversation with him. All those years spent getting A's instead of learning how to flirt had led up to that uncomfortable moment. _Poor me!_ Luckily, Gerd was exchanging car facts with the valets and appeared, as far as I knew, unaware of my internal turmoil.

After several minutes, he turned to me and proclaimed, "Here it comes!"

I stared in the direction he was referring as the car slowly pulled up to the curb. I was never one to get too excited about sports cars, mainly because they all looked alike to me, but that one was special. It seemed to glow with the confidence of a loved creature that knew it was being admired. It was sleek and black and caught the attention of everyone within view. As it drew closer, I noticed the emblem on the hood, but I didn't recognize it. _A tree within a ring?_ _Well, that narrows it down._ Regardless of my sarcastic thoughts, though, I was still in awe. _And to think I get to be a passenger!_ I smiled to myself.

As the car came to a stop, the valet on the curb recovered from what seemed to be a trance and opened the passenger side door for me.

"Thank you."

"Welcome, ma'am," he said as he closed the door.

The interior of the car was just as impressive. From the wood-grain dash that housed more components than my geeky neighbor's dorm room to the soft leather seats that begged to be caressed, the whole car radiated that smell—the smell of money.

Gerd walked around the back of the car and tipped both valets before climbing in through the open driver's side door.

I briefly glanced his way before resuming my visual tour of the vehicle's many amenities. "What kind of car is this?" I finally asked once he was seated.

"It's a prototype." He put on his seatbelt. "This is the only one in the world."

My eyes felt as if they were glazing over.

"Are we ready?" He smiled broadly, finally drawing my attention away from his car.

I suddenly realized that I wasn't buckled in yet. "Almost."

As soon as my seatbelt clicked into place, he pulled away from the curb and exited the parking lot, heading in the direction of my school.

Instead of taking the side streets as the limo had, we soon merged onto the freeway, where I expected to have my head implanted in the head rest with the sheer force of the car's forward momentum. Instead, Gerd drove it as if it would break. I was more than just a little disappointed.

"How fast can this thing go?"

Gerd looked at me with a smile on his face. "Much faster than this, of course. I just...didn't want to scare you."

I smiled back. "Scare me!"

The freeway was surprisingly clear, so he found the gas pedal and implanted my head in the headrest after all. I was in heaven. Fortunately, it wasn't a convertible, because my lips had disappeared entirely, and the smile that replaced them would have been covered with bugs.

Sadly, the restaurant was fairly close to campus, so our joyride was a short one.

Regardless, as we stopped at the curb outside my dorm, all I could think to say was, "Amazing!"

Gerd laughed as he stepped out and opened my door. Offering me his hand, he helped me to my feet and held me there for several seconds. It seemed a lifetime. I was so in awe of his car that I didn't realize he had stopped smiling and was staring at me.

"When can I see you again?" he asked.

I was taken aback by the question. "What about Sophia?"

"Sophia?" A look of confusion covered his face.

"Surely you know she has feelings for you."

"Oh, _that._ " He laughed. "She only has feelings for me when she's not dating someone else. I take it she's single again?"

"Yes."

"Well, that explains it." He looked serious again. "Now...what's your answer?"

"Hmm. Well, that depends. When do you _want_ to see me again?"

"Right now, but unfortunately, I have other commitments. Are you busy in the morning?"

"Uh..." I hesitated, wishing he had said _afternoon_ instead.

He read my reluctance well. "Not too early. Maybe around ten or so?"

"Ten would be great!"

"Perfect. I will pick you up then."

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise." He smiled, slowly releasing my hand.

"Okay, but what should I wear?"

"Clothes." He laughed, easing me in the direction of the front door.

I sighed in mock frustration. "You aren't much help."

"You're cute when you're upset." He flashed me his teeth.

"You wouldn't think so if I were _really_ upset."

"Sounds like a challenge to me!"

"Take it however you want." I turned to face him as we stopped just outside the main doors.

"I shall," he said with a grin.

"So?" I asked.

"So what?"

"You know what!" I said, trying to look serious.

"Okay. Let's just say...nothing fancy. Just put on whatever you'd wear to visit an old friend."

"How old?"

"You decide." With that, he kissed me on the cheek, swiftly walked back to his car, and drove off with a wave outside his window.

I watched his beautiful tail lights fade into the night. "Great. Now I'll be up all night trying to decide what not to wear," I mumbled.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

_Dear Maude,_ [My journal entries were addressed to my grandmother's aunt, who was a flapper during the 1920s. Until she passed away, I could tell her anything, and she never judged me. I adored her. Even after she was gone, I continued to tell her my secrets—within the pages of my journal.]

Today was amazing!

My roommate, Soph the Pimento Loaf, tried to get me to write a paper for her. I found out the paper is just for extra credit. She must have missed that part, but since she's always such a swell specimen of a human being, I didn't see any harm in playing along. Hehe! The best part is that I convinced her to invite me to dinner with her dad, in exchange for the paper. She dressed me up like a doll, which is something she's really good at doing. I actually looked girly, Maude. You would have been shocked.

Then, believe it or not, a limo picked us up—a real one, with an actual chauffeur. Unfortunately, the driver is a complete psycho. He nearly killed us when a cat decided to run in front of the limo. Maybe he's just superstitious—the cat was supposedly black after all—but I think there's more to it than that. There was a weird vibe between Sophia and the driver. Plus, I didn't even see the cat. Who knows?

Anyway, the restaurant, The Garden, is one of those crazy expensive places where they don't put the prices on the menu. I ordered a grilled salmon salad—wild-caught, of course. I couldn't disappoint the grans! The Loaf's dad is one of those rich guys who thinks he owns the world and everyone in it. I guess I understand why she's the way she is.

But the best part was the Pimento Loaf's family friend, Gerd, joined us for dinner. I don't know why he's in town or where he's from, but I might have a chance to find out tomorrow, because he actually asked me out! It will sure make The Loaf mad, because she really likes him. It's going to be awesome. He's gorgeous, by-the-way, and he drives a sports car with an emblem on it that I've never seen on a car before. It's some kind of prototype, and it's as beautiful as he is. I got to check them both out up close when he gave me a ride back to my dorm.

Well, I'd better go through my closet—or maybe The Loaf's—to find something worth wearing in public tomorrow.

Love,

Emily

P.S. _I almost forgot—we drank champagne, and it was amazing. I guess I finally understand what you meant when you said that you didn't find your taste buds until you were older. I just might be finding mine!_

# Chapter Three

**SUNDAY CAME AND** went without as much as a phone call from Gerd. I was miserable, and my overactive imagination allowed no escape. If sleep found me at all that night, it sneaked in and left before I noticed. Then, the birds chirping outside my window finally succeeded in making me face my least favorite day of the week.

I dreaded Mondays. If I heard my alarm at all, I usually spent an extra half-hour hitting the snooze button, only to wake up at the last minute, miss breakfast, and run, half-clothed, to my first-period class. That Monday, of course, was different. I was awake before the sun and stood outside the library door as the puffy-faced, work-study student opened up for the day.

"Party too much to do your homework this weekend?" he asked, but his attempt at conversation fell short as he caught his own reflection in the glass library door. "Dang, me too!" He tried to fix his multi-directional hair.

I eyed his do with a surprisingly confident air and walked past him, into the library. "It looks good. I'd leave it alone."

He must have believed me, because he stopped playing with his messy hair, smiled into the glass, and ran behind the desk just in time to check me in.

"Have a good day," he said with a smile.

I smiled in return. _Yeah, I think I just made your day._

I found a nice, quiet study room and took out my journal.

Monday, April 9, 2012

Dear Maude,

I'm crushed. Gerd blew me off—no call, no...nothing.

I spent yesterday morning scouring my closet and The Loaf's for the perfect outfit. Nothing jumped onto my body, so I went with my trusty jeans and crazy shirt that seemed to be a crowd-pleaser last Easter. Then I waited. Ten o'clock slowly became eleven. I didn't have Gerd's number, and The Loaf didn't answer her phone or reply to my texts. Apparently, her phone was dead, because around noon, she rushed into the room in search of her charger. Her timing couldn't have been worse. Aside from the fact that it was Easter Sunday and my empty stomach was missing brunch, I was in no mood to see anyone even remotely associated with Gerd, so, I unkindly informed her of the extra-credit nature of her paper. She imploded, left in a huff, and didn't return. I sure didn't miss her.

I know I wasn't raised to argue the way I do with Pimento-face, but she makes me crazy! How could I have been so foolish, Maude, in trusting any friend of hers? Looking at the bright side, though, I did enjoy riding in his car.

I wish you were here. You always knew just what to say.

Love,

Emily

I put down my pen, packed my journal in my bag, and made my way to class early. How pathetic it felt to be early to my first class on Monday. It was almost unnatural. In fact, I thought my teacher would have an attack of some sort when he looked up to see me enter the classroom.

"Uh, Miss Stanton?" he asked, adjusting his glasses.

"Good morning, Dr. Moore." I smiled, trying to act as if my early appearance was a common occurrence, but I wasn't fooling anyone.

He grinned in reply and asked, "Feel okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just eager to hear your next lecture."

He let out a bark, similar to a seal's, and went back to reviewing his notes.

"Sociology 405: The Study & Interpretation of Victorian & Edwardian Social Norms." Even Dr. Moore was bored with that one. His voice seldom deviated by an octave, and instead of bringing the subject to life, he generally killed it in numerous ways throughout his Sermons on the Mount, as I affectionately termed his lectures. It was definitely my least favorite class, and I seldom made it there on-time, let alone early.

Now, with plenty of time to kill, I took out my overpriced text book and began to look at the pictures. I had spent the entire semester prior to that reading only the assigned text, and giving little thought to it or the pictures on the pages. I only wanted to finish my homework, so it came as a shock to me that the book actually looked and sounded fairly interesting.

_Way to think that in April!_ I scolded myself as I continued to flip through the pages.

Periodically, I lifted my head from the book to study my teacher. I had always referred to him as Dr. Moore-Neither-Nor, because he was neither a short nor a tall man, neither young nor old, neither attractive nor unattractive, etc. And he always dressed the part, wearing clothes to match the time period he was lecturing about; I considered that the neither-here-nor-there portion of his look. He also wrote the name of his "outfit of the day" on the board, often including the name of the hat, hairstyle, mustache, etc. On that particular Monday, the board bore "The Norfolk Suit," which, as my text book illustrated, included a tweed jacket and knickerbockers "worn for hunting and other sports."

_What? No mustache or hat?_ I observed my bare-headed, clean-shaven professor.

Dr. Moore began every lecture by describing his outfit in detail. Of course all of that fashion information was on the test, and we were expected to match the ensembles with the lectures for which he wore them. Normally, I would have just written down the name and description of the thing and taken a picture with my phone, but that day, I actually studied his clothes.

"Crazy," I mumbled. "Where does he get these outfits? They always look brand new. He must have one heck of a talented tailor. It's just...weird." I shook my head and went back to my textbook.

Finally, my friends started to stream into the room. Most, if not all, were unable to pass my desk without offering some kind of comment regarding my early arrival.

"What the...?" or, "Did you spend the night here?" or, "Forget your dorm key?" or, my personal favorite, "Weren't you wearing that same outfit on Friday?"

"Ha-ha." I offered them all the same reaction as they found their way to their seats.

The lecture came and went as I blindly took notes, while replaying Sunday in my head. My other classes were no different. Plus, since I skipped breakfast, I was fighting both fatigue and hunger that seemed to play against each other and me, making me question everything that I had ever done or would do. By the end of my last class, I was tired, hungry, and grumpy. I didn't feel like being in a crowded cafeteria, so I walked to the student union to find some food.

"Why did I pick this worthless major?" I mumbled.

I ordered a bread bowl of chicken noodle soup and, tray in hand, worked my way around the other tables toward a lonely seat in the corner.

_Comfort food,_ was my last thought.

I ate the soup, then its sourdough bowl as I stared blankly at the cheap painting on the wall next to me.

Within a few minutes of finishing my lunch, I began to like my major again, so I decided to go to the library. Fortunately, I had written down all my homework assignments, and I was able to get them done by dinner time. That was a good thing, because I was starving again.

"Meatloaf Monday." I cringed and walked back to the student union to avoid the noxious smell of the cafeteria.

After eating a turkey sandwich and making small talk with a freshman guy I'd apparently met at the frat party on Friday night, my friend Fatigue returned with a vengeance. After a quick "Bye," I pointed my tired body in the direction of the dorm. I chanted as I walked, thinking of Sophia. "Please don't be there! Please don't be there!"

When I drew closer to the dorm, however, I saw a familiar car parked along the curb.

Even worse!

I crossed my fingers and tried to deny reality with each hopeful step.

A crowd soon gathered outside the dorm, mostly guys, milling around the curb with their hands in their pockets, looking at each other in silent amazement. The group grew so large that they eventually blocked the street and its contents, but I knew what was there. Rather than avoid its epicenter, I took a deep breath and confidently excused my way through the throng, until I was standing face to face with Gerd, who was holding court with his new admirers. All eyes were on me.

"Hi." Gerd's voice was calm, almost soothing.

"Hi," I said, struggling to speak around the lump that had jumped into my throat.

"Would you like to go for a ride?" he asked.

I looked up at him and noticed the blue eyes that practically pierced through me at dinner on Saturday were less blue, similar to a faded pair of jeans—a favorite pair that had been worn over and over and over again. I was lost in their comfort and couldn't say no. "Sure." I finally answered, then let him lead me toward the passenger seat.

"Later, gentlemen!" He looked over his shoulder as he walked around the back to the driver side.

I loved the smell of his car. The combination of his cologne and the leather seats drove me crazy; it was an unwelcome feeling I didn't expect. We drove in silence to a park near the school.

Gerd pulled up to the curb, turned off the engine, and faced me. "I'm sorry for being such a jerk."

_"Jerk" is an understatement_! I just glared as he paused to test the waters.

He shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Emily. I had a last-minute meeting yesterday morning, and I was running late. I tried to contact Sophia for your number but couldn't reach her. She returned my calls once she collected her charger...just after you informed her about a certain paper."

I noticed a twinkle in his eyes.

"That was impressive, Emily. I've never known anyone outside the family circle to stand up to Sophia and win. I took you for the quiet and shy type, but I guess you're a sleeper. I didn't expect that. You're just...different," he added.

_Great._ I cringed.

"I mean that in a good way. I'm tired of girls like Sophia. They're extremely selfish, but they seem to be the only kind I ever meet. Then you came along, and..." He paused and stared at me for several seconds. "I don't know what to do with you. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you ever since I met you. You're beautiful, funny, smart...shy, I thought. It threw me off that you're so unpredictable, but I like that too. You're just so...unexpected. I've never met anyone like you, and I don't know how to be when I'm around you."

"Try being yourself," I said.

"It's not that easy."

"Why?"

"Because I grew up in a world that expects a lot from me. Being myself has never been acceptable. It's simply not."

"Excuse me?"

"See, now you don't know what to do with _me_ either."

_I can use my imagination..._ The thought took me by surprise and brought a __ cough and a stifled laugh that finally cleared the lump from my throat. Fortunately, I quickly recovered and asked, "Do you always blow off girls you find different and impressive?"

A grin settled in the corners of his mouth. "I'm not easily impressed."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Gerd grew serious and stared out the window for several seconds before turning to me. "You're clearly not like Sophia at all. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why you'd be her friend, but then, when I discovered exactly why you were invited to dinner...Well, let's just say I was so surprised that I was speechless. I'm more than just impressed or even curious. I admire you." He shook his head. "Emily, I didn't purposely avoid you yesterday. I had every intention of calling you as soon as I received your number from Sophia, but my life is fairly complicated, and...I guess I just needed time to think."

"What was there to think about?" I asked, growing impatient. _Was it too difficult to decide between scrambled or fried eggs?_

"Em, I originally invited you to breakfast because I just wanted to get to know you. I didn't expect to find myself liking you before our date even occurred." He made eye contact and held me there, taking my hands in his. "But I do...very much."

I thought I would die. I didn't, and fortunately, I was also too tired to blush. "I like you too." Suddenly, all the hurt, anger, and frustration that had accumulated during the past twenty-four hours faded away; mere memories in my exhausted mind.

Then, the unthinkable happened: Gerd kissed me.

Sadly, it was my first kiss. Although my experience was lacking, I felt pretty confident that he knew what he was doing, and I was more than willing to be educated. Unlike my sociology class, I instantly liked the subject matter, as well as my professor and his wardrobe. I really wanted an A, so the professor continued to teach, and I continued to learn.

I had no idea how much time passed. I felt as though I was living in a vacuum that held time like a prisoner. I had no sense of it or need for it—until his phone rang and jolted us both back to reality.

"Sorry, I have to take this," Gerd said, then reached into his pocket. "Hello?" He smiled and rubbed my leg as he talked to the person on the other end.

My mind went blank while I let my head fall back against the seat and tried to stare out the fogged-up windows.

Once his conversation was finished, he paused before saying, "Sorry, Em, but I have to go to a meeting."

"Now? Do you really?" I didn't try to hide my disappointment.

"Yes, that's why I'm in town."

"What do you do?" I asked, realizing I hadn't inquired about his career earlier.

"I'm in acquisitions." He quickly changed the subject. "I will try to call you later."

I was suddenly aware that our make out session had consumed what little energy I had left. "That would be nice, but I'm kind of tired and will probably be asleep."

"Tomorrow, then?" he asked.

I just smiled, too tired to raise my head off the headrest. He started the engine and drove me to our usual curb outside the dorm. I removed my head from the rest and tried to keep it from bobbing toward my lap as he exited the car to open my door.

Gerd offered his hand, and I stepped out into the newly formed crowd of guys who began to surround the car. He lightly closed the door and accompanied me to the elevator, where I pressed the up button and stood facing the door.

We waited in the lobby, standing side by side and still holding hands, while the elevator dinged its way down the shaft.

Then, he put his free arm around my waist and turned me toward him. "Thank you for letting me explain myself. I never meant to hurt you. I just didn't know what to do."

_And now, neither do I_.

Before I could give my thoughts away, the elevator doors whooshed open. The surprise was just enough of a distraction for him to loosen his hold, allowing me to take a step away from him. Before he could reclaim his embrace, I quickly kissed him goodnight, hurried into the elevator, and pushed the fifth floor button.

When I arrived, Sophia was asleep in our room, softly snoring.

_She looks like an angel...yeah, a fallen one, with horns and a pitchfork_.

I walked over to my desk to write in my journal. Even though I was too exhausted to make much sense, I had to tell someone about Gerd, and Maude was always there for me.

Monday, April 9, 2012, Cont.,

Dear Maude,

Okay, so I guess I'm not the pathetic loser I thought I was. Gerd really does like me after all. He met me after school, and we went for a drive and talked. Apparently, he didn't expect to like me so much—it threw him off his game. Regardless, a phone call would have been nice. I suppose I accepted his apology, because we made out! Yes, go on and rub your eyes and read that again. I made out with someone...for the first time. I know, it's unbelievable, but it happened. I can't believe it myself. I still don't know what to think, but I do know that I'm definitely not throwing my future away for this guy or any other. Still, it was really nice. I'm sorry Maude, but I'm pooped, so that's all the kissing and telling you're going to get tonight.

Thanks for reading.

Love,

Emily

# Chapter Four

**BEING A SENIOR** in the spring semester definitely came with its advantages. The heavy load of courses and summer school I had taken my previous three years had led up to that moment—I only needed three classes to graduate. Since the demands of school were not as great, I had more free time to spend with Gerd, and he extended his business trip to be with me. My misgivings about him faded long before our second real date, and his charm and good looks kept me from revisiting our rough beginning. The sight of his car parked alongside the curb outside my dorm became such a common occurrence that his entourage of fans dwindled to nothing within a few weeks.

Even my relationship with my roommate improved; shockingly, my nemesis became my best friend, and I actually stopped calling her The Loaf. When I wasn't with Gerd, I spent the remainder of my time with Sophia, who started taking me everywhere with her, similar to a dog in a purse. She panicked whenever she couldn't get in touch with me and literally cried when I made plans that didn't include her. I joked about being her boyfriend substitute; worse, she shared so much of her wardrobe with me that I looked like her twin—or some kind of charity case. Still, I was too in love with Gerd to question her motives.

In fact, I was so swept up in the moment that I failed to do what Maude had stressed so strongly when I was younger: "Always step back and survey your landscape, or it might swallow you whole," and, "Don't lose yourself, Toots!"

Failing to heed her sage wisdom, I didn't stop once to survey or question anything. All of that went out the window every time Gerd and that smile of his whisked me off to the next dinner party or out-of-towner. He seemed to know everyone, and I got to know them as well. I allowed myself to be swallowed whole, but I loved every minute.

That all ended a day before graduation, however, when a phone call jerked me back to reality.

"Hello?" I answered absently. I was in my dorm room, trying to pack the last few boxes to be stored until I found an apartment.

"Treasure?" Mom always said that a young life was like a treasure chest—a trove of invaluable potential. The women in my family were full of such sayings. Wisdom aside, however, like most mothers throughout time, mine seemed to find the worst possible moments to call.

"Oh, hi Mom." I was less than enthused and my voice betrayed my impatience.

"Oh, sorry to bother..." Her voice cracked.

"Mom? What's the matter?"

"Well, sweetheart, it's Papa Bob."

I found an open spot on my bed and sat on it. "Is he okay?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"No, he's had a heart attack."

I couldn't speak.

"He's gone, baby."

"No, he can't be! You're all coming to my graduation tomorrow."

"I'm sorry..." she broke off again. After a minute, she continued, "I'm sorry about your graduation, baby."

"I don't care about that. I'm not going either."

"Oh, but you must!"

"What!? How can I go now?"

"Sweetheart, Papa was so proud of you! He would be so upset to know you skipped your graduation because of him."

I knew she was right. I could almost picture the discouraged look on his face and hear his big voice booming from the depths of his thick beard, _"Go on, girl, or I'll bite you!"_ Papa Bob always resembled and tried to act like a grizzly bear, but he was really more of a teddy bear. I missed him already.

"I guess I don't want to get bitten," I said, my voice tight. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

Mom let out a small laugh at the other end, unable to speak.

I gave it a few seconds, then asked, "Mom?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"Where was he?"

"Fishing."

If there was one thing Papa Bob loved just slightly less than his family, it was fly fishing. Now, I couldn't speak.

"I'll call you later?" Mom asked.

"O-Okay," I choked out and hung up the phone.

I sat on my bed for what seemed like hours, looking around my room, now distorted by my tears. Papa Bob's death seemed to put the last few months back into perspective. I felt as if I were on the outside looking in, and I didn't recognize what I saw or who I was becoming.

I eventually went over to the sink to look in the mirror. The red, makeup-smeared, swollen face that stared back at me looked like that of a stranger. I washed the teary trails off my face and walked back over to my boxes.

I spent the next hour sobbing and talking to myself, while trying to pack the rest of my things before Gerd arrived with a truck.

"I can't believe I didn't go home for his birthday," I said, remembering the disappointment in Papa Bob's voice when I told him that I couldn't make it. I cried and relived the guilt I felt. "I could have gone. I didn't need to go to that stupid party with Gerd! And Papa was so sweet when he said, 'It's okay, Goldilocks. Papa Bear will catch up with you next time.'"

That was our last conversation.

I sat on the floor next to the stack of boxes and cried until Gerd arrived.

When he stepped through the doorway and saw me there, he immediately ran to my side. "Are you okay, Em? Did you hurt yourself?"

The look of concern on his face was so genuine that I couldn't help but throw my arms around his neck and draw him close to me. He nearly knocked me over as he fought to keep his own balance. After a few minutes, I released him and stared into his pale face that still showed visible signs of concern.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Papa Bob is...gone," was all I could offer.

He held me for several minutes before whispering in my ear, "We can do this later."

"No, you rented a truck and everything."

"Well, I can rent a truck and everything again later." He gently wiped the tears from my face with his thumbs.

"No, I want to get this over-with."

"Let me take care of it, Em. You just relax, and I'll be back when I'm finished."

"You would do that?"

He rolled his eyes and just stared at me until I found my manners.

"Thank you. I would love that."

With the help of a dolly and two muscle-clad helpers who were waiting in the hallway, Gerd removed my boxes in two loads.

After he left, I looked around my room. It was supposed to be one of the last remaining pieces of my childhood before I had to move on to the real world, as my professors loved to call it, but I was too upset about Papa Bob to be sentimental about the room or my childhood.

_I wish I cared, but I just don't._ I looked through my drawers and closet one last time.

I stared at the garment bag in my wardrobe that contained my cap, gown, dress, and shoes for graduation. "I'm glad I separated these from the things Gerd took." Then I froze, realizing that I had nothing at home suitable to wear to Papa Bob's funeral.

I was too distraught to make useful decisions, especially regarding fashion. So I did the only thing I could—I decided to call my roommate. As soon as I hit the talk button on my phone, the door burst open, and Sophia ran in and hugged me.

"Gerd just told me. I came as fast as I could." Her face was as pale as Gerd's was earlier. "You look..." she stopped herself. "Uh, let me fix your face." She pushed me toward my desk, and I sat in an all too familiar pose as she worked to reduce my red, puffy eyes.

"Don't do too much—I'll just lose it."

She tried to sound cheery. "No worries, just a little bit."

Once I started dating Gerd, Sophia treated me more like a favorite sister than an enemy. She even stopped hanging around her friends and began to get to know mine. My friend Matt tried to date her until he realized that his beat-up pickup truck would never win her over; I couldn't blame him for trying, though.

"Done!" she said, then showed me my face in her pocket mirror.

I was amazed, as usual, at her handiwork. "Thanks." I made eye contact with her for the first time in days and noticed how much older she was looking.

She turned away as if she could read my mind and began to survey our empty room. "How depressing. I'm glad I moved last weekend. We need to get out of here. Let's go to the hotel. We can meet Gerd there when he's done."

"Soph?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Can we please go shopping?"

"Shopping?" Her eyes flew wide in amazement. Most of our shopping trips consisted of her dragging me along as if I were a leashed dog being forced to visit the vet. My actually asking her to go wasn't just rare; it was unthinkable.

"Yeah, I need something to wear to Papa Bob's funeral."

"I know just the store." She grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me from the chair before I could change my mind.

Without further discussion, I took my garment bag and purse and closed the door to my childhood.

Despite my objections, we drove Sophia's extremely expensive luxury graduation present to her favorite overpriced store at the mall. I later wished I had just asked my mom to dig something out of her closet for me instead.

In the shop, Sophia confidently ran the show, handing me black outfits over the top of the dressing room door. I modeled each and was sent back to change until a satisfactory choice was made—by Sophia.

Once shoes and a purse were added, I was well beyond the limits of my checking account. Therefore, in the confines of the changing room, I discreetly dug through my purse and found the credit card Papa Bob had given me as a freshman for emergencies. _This definitely qualifies_. But I didn't stop to think how the outfit would be received at home, especially when the credit card bill arrived.

I handed the dress, shoes, and purse to the waiting clerk, who walked them to the front, where Sophia stood with her credit card out.

"Wait!" I said, almost running to the counter. "What are you doing?"

"Don't argue with me on this, Em. What kind of friend would I be if I let you pay?"

She turned away and made small talk with the clerk, who neatly folded and boxed my outfit and placed it into several fancy shopping bags.

I had joked about being her charity case the first time I received clothes from Sophia, but the joke seemed to be on me now. Although I couldn't afford to buy them myself, I was growing tired of getting her donations. She had just paid more for my outfit than I had spent on my textbooks for the previous two semesters. I felt as though I needed to make a cardboard sign with a catchy phrase on it: " _Serious Wardrobe Issues. Inquire Within_!" If I wasn't her charity case, I was at least her toy—the "Emily" doll she received for Christmas. Either way, I felt empty and alone whenever I spent too much time with her.

"Thank you," I said politely, nonetheless.

"Of course!" She squeezed my shoulders from the side.

I was quiet during our drive to the hotel, drowning out Sophia as she chattered about her new boyfriend, Nigel, whom she'd met over spring break in Majorca.

"I was dating Nathan when we met, so I completely forgot how gorgeous Nigel was until he came to town on business...blah, blah, blah..."

I just stared out the window.

The rest of the day was spent with two rich kids, attempting to console me despite the fact that they had never experienced a strong connection with anything other than money in their lives. I appreciated the effort, but they were no comfort, so I decided to go to bed early.

The next day's commencement ceremony was long and uneventful. The hot auditorium was stuffed to the rafters with the pride of both families and students, who erupted in loud appreciation as each name was called. Papa Bob had talked about that day since I was little, making it seem as if it would be one of the greatest of my life. Now, I just wanted it to be over. I received more applause than I expected and returned to my seat afterward, feeling as if a hole had been drilled into my heart, one that would never be filled.

When they finally dismissed us, I fought through the crowd of my robed classmates and their well-wishers in search of fresh air. I didn't bother finding Gerd. I needed to get away from the mob of smiling faces and all of that happiness. It only made the hole in my heart bigger.

Gerd finally found me alone on a bench near the entrance, staring into a nearby fountain. He sat down next to me. "Emily?"

I turned toward his voice.

"I've been worried about you."

I simply nodded.

"Would you be interested in having dinner with Sophia and George?"

I shook my head.

"Okay. Wait here, and I'll let them know. I'm sure they'll understand."

I didn't care either way, so after he left, I went back to staring at the fountain.

When he returned, I followed him, almost mechanically, to his car. We embarked on an early, nearly silent drive to the airport so I could catch my flight to Portland, then home to St. Helens, Oregon.

He walked me to the terminal, holding my hand and carrying the shopping bags that contained my expensive funeral outfit, as well as my cap and gown. I felt as if I were floating on a cloud, oblivious to everyone around me, including Gerd.

Right before the security checkpoint, he grabbed me around the waist and pulled me toward him. He held me there as other passengers walked around us, the younger ones giggling to each other. Then he kissed me as if we had never kissed before. It was long, sweet, and amazing, and the crowd around us seemed to disappear. After several interruptions by onlookers who couldn't seem to resist bumping us, he stared at me and said, "I'll miss you."

"Me too." I smiled as I took the shopping bags from him, but I wasn't sure how genuine the words were. "I'd better go," I said, nodding to the line that had grown much larger since we arrived.

He smiled, kissed me again, and let me go.

"Bye, Gerd," I said and walked toward the end of the line. I turned around to wave once, but he had already disappeared into the sea of travelers behind me. It had all happened so fast that it didn't occur to me, until I was buckled into my seat, to wonder why he hadn't come with me.

In the air, I pulled my journal out of my purse and wrote:

Saturday, May 19, 2012

Dear Maude,

I'm sorry I haven't written in a while. I've been dating Gerd and seem to have ignored your advice. Instead, I let myself be swallowed whole.

Now, I'm on a plane, heading back home after graduation. This is the first time I've been alone in weeks. I didn't realize how I missed it until now. You always said, "It's all in the details, Toots!" I guess I've let the details slide lately. It's nice to finally relax and think about them.

Papa Bob is with you now, but I guess you already know that. He was going to take a fishing vacation after my graduation to catch the May Fly Hatch on the Deschutes River. Please tell him I'm sorry he had to miss it. But I'm sure he's busy catching his limit on some other river there, with his old lab, Buddy, and Rex, his hound dog. Tell him, too, that I miss him, and I'm sorry for not being there for him on his birthday. I have no excuse. I won't miss another one, even though I will have to celebrate it without him.

Sorry, Maude, for not writing more often.

Love,

Emily

# Chapter Five

**NANA ROSIE STOOD** slightly less than five feet tall but more than made up for her size with her mouth. She packed a verbal punch that few dared to counter. Most of her opponents were chewed up and spat out before they even knew the bell rang. She was also steady as a rock; she was my hero. The day of Papa Bob's funeral was no exception. She ordered everyone around in her unshakeable manner that left only a courageous few the will to feel sympathy for her.

"When you cry, I make pie," Nana was known to say.

So I suppose that is why it came as such a shock to everyone when, two days after Papa Bob's funeral, Mom went to wake Nana from a nap and discovered that she had passed away in her sleep.

Just like that, the death of my childhood was complete.

For my mom, losing her parents less than a week apart seemed to only make her stronger. The enormous shoulders of her boyfriend, Tom, didn't hurt either. Mom and Tom met in a glass-blowing class and had "co-habbed," as they called it, since I was twelve. They eventually made a business of producing their blown-glass artwork and dinnerware in a studio they named Glass-A-Fras, located behind my grandparents' house in St. Helens. Therefore, a few days after the funerals, Mom and Tom decided to pick up the pieces and go back to work.

I was horrified. "How can you just go on as if nothing happened?" I asked, making a scene by storming into their studio.

Mom calmly put down her tools and stared at me, and Tom did as he always did in such situations: He stopped what he was doing and left.

She waited a few seconds before responding, "Is that what you think?"

"How can I not?" I was further enraged by her calmness. "You're just acting as though it's a regular day."

"Sit down." She motioned to the chair next to her.

"I'll stand."

She calmly picked up her tools and went back to work.

"Fine!" I said, exhaling and dramatically scraping the chair across the floor as I pulled it closer to where I was standing.

Once I was seated, she again put down her tools and looked at me.

I glared back, prepared for battle. Instead, I was met by an overwhelming sadness in her eyes. It was deep, yet it hung on the surface like a leaf on a pond. My anger immediately vanished. _What a selfish brat I am, burdening my dear mother with even more pain!_ I burst into tears and ran to her, kneeling and burying my head in her lap as I had done when I was a child. She stroked my hair as I sobbed uncontrollably all over her smock. "I-I'm sorry," I blubbered. "This just doesn't make any sense! Papa Bob was...so strong," I sputtered like one of Maude's old cars. "And Nana Rosie?" I recovered slightly. "Everyone in her family lives close to one hundred years. How could she die at sixty-five?"

"No one is immortal, hun." She continued to stroke my hair.

"I know this, Mom, but it doesn't make any sense...and the whole broken-heart thing just doesn't work either. How can someone who stitches her own wounds die of a broken heart?" I referred to the time Nana Rosie cut herself while camping and sutured the wound herself rather than ending the vacation early with a trip to the emergency room. She didn't tell anyone until we returned home.

Mom sniffed. "I don't get it either, but it is the hand we've been dealt."

"What?" I quickly removed my head from her lap and leaned back on my knees, unable to accept her words.

"Emily Rose!" At that point, I knew I'd gone too far. Mom seldom called me by my first name, let alone with the addition of the middle one. "Stop it! I can't ask those questions right now. I just can't! I'm having enough trouble coping, without the why's invading my brain. They were _my_ parents, you know."

"I'm sorry, I just—"

"Drop it!"

I did.

Mom once again picked up her tools, and I went back to my chair and pulled it closer to her, while attempting to dry my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt.

She handed me a clean cloth from the pile next to her. "The problem, Sweets, is that you have too much nothing going on. You need to change your focus and get back to work."

"But I just—"

"No buts, missy. You need to start that job of yours."

_My job_. The thought had been burning a hole in the back of my brain for the previous few months. Part of the terms of my scholarship were that, after graduation, I had to work for four years for the company that funded the scholarship, Evergreen Research Corporation. It seemed a good idea at the time I enrolled, when I was unable to pay for college on my own, but now it loomed like a black cloud over my head. Evergreen specialized in researching past societies and lost civilizations, and it employed their scholarship recipients from colleges around the world. They told us little else about the company. So, like it or not, I was contractually obligated to blindly jump into the abyss. I felt as if my degree should have come with a "sucker" tattoo for my forehead.

"Mom, do you think I made a mistake?" I finally asked.

She turned away from her work to look at me. "Do _you_?"

"I don't know." But I wondered.

"Personally, Treasure, I think that you made the best decision you could have with the knowledge you possessed at the time. Four years isn't forever." She tried to smile.

"No, you're right. It just feels as though it is."

She laughed. "Well, at twenty-two, I guess you're right."

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, Em." She stopped her work long enough to give me a big hug. "I'm proud of you, just as your Papa and Nana were."

"Thanks." I felt the tears begin to well up again. "I'm proud of you too."

She smiled, trying to look tough. "Now go and pack."

As I left, I turned to see her pull a cloth off the table to dry her own eyes. I closed the door, gently that time, and walked up the path toward the house. I found Tom in my grandparents' kitchen, leaning against the counter and drinking coffee.

"Hi," he said, offering a wary smile, obviously testing the waters.

"Hey." I tried to smile back. "You better take care of her," I added in a failed attempt to make it sound like an order.

He put his cup on the counter and walked toward me. "I always do." Then he grabbed my arm and pulled me into a hug.

Tom was tall and thin and shaved more often than most men in my family, allowing the world a clear view of his ruggedly handsome face. His kind, hazel eyes always seemed to have some form of mischief dancing in the corners, and the quiet strength he showed in the middle of our family chaos was often the glue that held our lives together. He always tried harder than I did at our relationship. I never gave him enough credit for that or the fact that he was a good man and always treated my mother with respect. My father was not in the picture; in fact, I'd never met the man, so Tom was the closest thing I ever had to one. I couldn't have wished for a better father figure.

"Thank you, Tom," I said, then kissed him on the cheek.

His look of surprise was priceless. "You Stanton women are all the same, tough on the outside and soft and chewy on the inside."

I slapped him on the arm and made my way to my room to pack.

"Always leaving me in a state of confusion!" he called after me.

"Is that a state or a country?" I yelled from the hallway.

I heard him laugh just before the screen door slammed, his footsteps fading as he walked back to the studio.

I shook my head as I entered my bedroom. "I'm going to miss him."

My room had always been my refuge from the outside world. My sleigh bed stood along one wall like a beacon. It was my ticket to everywhere. I read there, studied there, dreamt there, and cried there. It was covered with one of Nana Rosie's homemade quilts. I loved that bed and everything in that room. It was mine until Mom and I moved with Tom into a house about a quarter-mile down the road, but Nana Rosie kept it just the way I'd left it. As a teenager, when Mom and I fought and I ran off, everyone knew where to look first.

"I'm going to miss you too." I scanned the room, making a mental video as I went.

It was then that I remembered I had only brought shopping bags instead of a suitcase on the plane, so I left my room and climbed the attic stairs in search of something else into which I could pack my things.

To me, the attic was a secret wonderland, filled with boxes and trunks just waiting to be opened, to allow the adventure to begin. As a child, I had spent many rainy days in that dusty place, lost in its possibilities, so my search for a suitcase ended up taking most of what remained of the day.

Without exception, the most priceless artifact was the Maude trunk. It was an enormous steamer truck, covered with travel stickers and the name "Maude Beckwith" stenciled across either end, just above the handles. It had fascinated me since Nana Rosie had first shown it to me, back when I was about four.

"This is Maude's trunk," Nana had said.

Maude was Nana's aunt, her father's sister, whose name was really Elizabeth.

"Just call me Maude," she had announced one day when she was ten. No one knew why, but they did know to simply accept her new name rather than waste a considerable amount of their day trying unsuccessfully to convince her otherwise. That was also why no one dared call her Aunt Maude.

Like Nana, she was short on size but long on personality.

"She flapped her way through life!" Nana always smiled, recalling Maude's wild ways.

In her later years, Maude lived in the house that would become Mom and Tom's studio—not because her health was in question, but because she insisted on driving her enormous 1957 convertible Cadillac through the streets of Portland at speeds exceeding her diminishing reflexes. After the second hit-and-run, the family stepped in to avoid seeing her thrown in jail. The spare house on her favorite niece's property seemed to be the best solution for keeping an eye on her.

"Well, at least I gave all those prunes something to talk about," she always said in her own defense.

As in all things, Maude made the best of the situation. She decorated the small one-bedroom house with souvenirs of her life. Every free inch of wall, shelving, and floor space was covered with a kaleidoscope of artwork, books, music, tapestries, antiques, and other "kitsch," as she called it. It was an amazing tribute to her life.

She died when I was fifteen, and everything in her house that wasn't passed on to someone in the family was moved into Nana and Papa's attic. Her trunk took up too much space in her tiny house, so it was stored in the attic long before her other belongings joined it.

My memory of Maude grew stronger and put a smile on my face as I waded through the dust and cobwebs of the attic to finally sit on her trunk, surrounded by her things. I had always wanted to open the trunk, but it was locked—chained and locked.

"What's this?" I remembered asking Nana the first time I saw the trunk, referring to the antique lock and chains surrounding it.

"A lock."

"Why?" My small eyes couldn't stop staring at it.

"Because big secrets need a big lock," was all she would say.

As a child, that seemed reasonable enough, but as I grew older, I wasn't satisfied with that answer.

Shortly before Maude passed away, I asked, "Why is your trunk locked, Maude?"

A lost look came over her, one that worried me until she finally looked me in the eyes. "Toots, some day your mama will know." Then she cradled my face between her frail hands. "And that will make her feel better."

"But what about me?" I asked, completely confused.

"You'll feel better, too, my little jitterbug!" She planted a shaky kiss on my forehead.

She always seemed to speak to me in riddles.

"She wants you to think," Mom often said about Maude, but I was sure that was only part of the story.

Sitting alone on her trunk in the attic, I felt the uncontrollable urge to pick the lock. I had no idea how, but I had witnessed it many times in movies. "How hard could it be?"

I rummaged through the attic, looking for anything I could use to accomplish the task, but everything I found—letter openers, hairpins, hooks, and wire hangers—failed to open the lock.

Just as I was inserting a chisel into the key hole, I heard my mom's voice from across the attic: "Looking for this?" She was holding up the skeleton key she always wore on a chain around her neck.

"Uh..." I dropped the chisel. I felt as though I'd just been caught stealing money from the change jar—the one that paid for the groceries. It was horrible.

She walked closer to me, still holding out the key, until she was standing in front of me. "I think this will help," she said.

I'm sorry Mom. I came to grab a suitcase, and one thing led to another. Anyway, I'm sorry for snooping."

"Well, I can't say I blame you. I tried myself, many times. That's why the chain is on there." She stared down at the trunk.

"Oh!" I exhaled, relieved.

Mom looked at me and said, "The thing is, Maude gave me this key shortly before she died, but she would only hand it over with a few promises on my part."

"What were they?"

"For one, that I would not open the trunk until a certain date."

"What date is that?" I asked.

"Well, I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because that was the second part of the promise."

I threw my arms up in frustration. "Ugh! Will I _ever_ get to see what's inside?"

"Well, Maude told me that someday you'll know what's inside too."

"What does that mean?"

"I have no idea, but I never break a promise...and now I'm asking you to make me one, which is the third part of the promise I made to Maude."

"What is it?" I asked, feeling exhausted.

"That you will never even speak of this trunk or the key to anyone no matter how much you think you can trust them."

Mom had only asked me to make one other promise in my lifetime, and that was to give Tom a chance. I wasn't so good at that one, especially early on, but I became better as I grew older. It was my chance to make it up to her.

"I promise, but...Does Tom know?" I needed to ask.

"Well, not really. He's only been in the attic a few times. When he asked about my key necklace many years ago, I just told him that it was something cool Maude gave me. It wasn't a lie, and I still kept my promise to Maude."

I laughed, remembering her saying something similar to me when I was younger. Still smiling, I retrieved the chisel from the floor and stepped over to the old tool box to replace it in the top drawer. Then, Mom and I walked together to another part of the attic.

She pulled out an old, hard-sided suitcase from beneath a formerly white sheet. "This was Maude's too," she said and handed it to me.

I was thrilled; it was a smaller version of the steamer trunk, stickers and all. I couldn't help but hug Mom as we walked down the attic stairs.

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Dear Maude,

Here I go again...I'm sorry for not writing sooner. You're probably busy, too, playing catch-up with Nana Rosie. I'm sure there's a game or two of Pinochle involved as well. At least Papa Bob has his fishing to keep him company.

Mom is going to be just fine, in case you were wondering. She has Tom and some strong genes. I'm not worried.

She gave me one of your old suitcases, and I love it. Thank you! We had a nice discussion about another piece of your luggage and your many travels. The stickers are great, like a riddle in a good story. Since Mom is now my only key to your many adventures, I am looking forward to sitting down with her at a future date and learning all about them. One amazing thing about Mom is that she is great at making good on her promises, but I'm sure you already know that.

I'm flying back to New York to start my job in a few days. I'm nervous, so if you can somehow send a little luck my way, I would really appreciate it.

Love,

Emily

# Chapter Six

**WHEN THE WHEELS** of the plane hit the tarmac, it seemed the flight was not all that was ending. I felt as though I was returning to New York as my old self—not the person I became while dating Gerd. The feeling was further reinforced when I approached the baggage carousel and my beaming boyfriend.

"Hi!" His smile broadened as I reached him.

At that moment, I realized I hadn't thought of him once when I was gone; three weeks had elapsed, without a single thought his way. Not only did I not miss him, but I genuinely didn't want to see him.

"Hi." I tried to fake a smile in return, but my discomfort was difficult to hide.

"Everything okay?"

"Sure."

"Well, that wasn't so convincing," he said with a nervous laugh.

"I'm just tired." I threw in a sad smile, hoping to appear more believable, and the tactic seemed to work.

"Of course. I'm so sorry. Are you hungry?"

"Maybe."

"Well, let's drop your things off at the hotel, then we'll get something to eat."

"Sounds good." I stared at the ground as we walked to his car.

The ride to the hotel was a quiet one. I had regressed into my former reserved self and just stared out the window. Gerd reached over to hold my hand, and I had to fight the impulse to pull away. I was saved a few minutes later, when he needed to shift gears. After that, I rummaged through my purse, pulled fuzz off my sweater, tied my shoes, and generally occupied my hands to avoid further contact with him.

I adjusted my seatbelt and stared out the window again, criticizing myself. _What is wrong with me? He's still gorgeous_. I looked his direction and was met with one of his famous smiles _. He picked me up at the airport when I'd asked Sophia for a ride instead, so he must still be interested. Why do I feel so weird around him?_

Although I didn't invite him, I couldn't get beyond the notion that he didn't offer to go to Papa Bob's funeral with me. _And he hasn't said anything about Nana Rosie! What kind of boyfriend is he anyway?_ I fought a wave of anger. _A selfish one!_ I masked my sudden rage with a cough into my left hand. _There. Germs all over my hand! That should keep him from trying to hold it._

It seemed to take forever for us to arrive at the hotel, and I remained silent until we reached the room. I was hoping to fake a headache or something equally terminal so I wouldn't have to spend another second with him. Unfortunately, the gigantic suite that we entered was filled with Sophia and dozens of shopping bags.

"Ooh! I've missed you so much!" She descended on me like a swarm of Africanized honey bees. Then, without waiting for my reply, she started to describe the outfits she'd bought me while I was gone. "Shopping alone just isn't the same, so I pretended you were with me and just bought what I knew you would have if you'd been there."

_You pick it all out anyway!_ I kept my thoughts to myself as I smiled and gave her a big hug.

She ran for one of the bags and pulled out a black silk dress, dripping with clear crystal beads. It was gorgeous. "Try it on!" She smiled proudly, holding the dress in front of her like a prize.

Gerd cleared his throat. "Uh, Soph? She's kind of tired."

"Trust me, Gerd, no girl is ever too tired for a dress like this!" She smiled and winked at him.

I smiled too. She was so excited that I couldn't refuse. Although I felt like my old, pre-Gerd self, I didn't want her to return to the old, mean Sophia. Therefore, I gently took the dress from her hands and carried it into the bathroom.

While I was changing, I heard them speaking softly in the other room. The thin walls made for great eavesdropping, so I took my time in putting on the dress so that I could hear what they were saying.

"She's acting weird," Gerd said, sounding as if he were pacing the room, almost hissing like a snake.

"Well, she lost both of her grandparents in less than a week. What do you expect?"

"It's more than that. She's like...a cold fish."

"Well, that dress should warm her up!"

"Shopping doesn't solve the world's problems, Soph."

She laughed. "You're _such_ a guy."

There was a brief silence before I heard Sophia at the door. "Everything okay in there?"

I had dressed while eavesdropping, without paying attention to the mirror. Now, I looked at my reflection in utter amazement. "Yeah, I'm good." I couldn't stop staring at myself in the dress. It hugged all the right places. The sleeveless bodice was a black silk, embroidered with a flower pattern in silver thread. The neckline was a modest v-cut, edged with clear crystal beads. The top flowed seamlessly into the form-fitting skirt that ended several inches above the knee, with six-inch slits up either side. The flower pattern continued onto the skirt and was accented with crystal beads, sewn into the pattern. It fit perfectly, almost as if it were tailored just for me. I loved it.

Finally, I adjusted the dress, gave my hair a quick toss, and opened the bathroom door.

Sophia's mouth dropped, and she just stared as I exited the bathroom.

Gerd had resumed his position in the middle of the room where I left him, pacing while focusing only at the floor, clearly agitated by the conversation he had been having with Sophia.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Sophia finally asked.

Her question caused Gerd to stop and look at me.

Our eyes met, and as I walked toward him, I noticed that the angry glare he had been casting at the carpet was quickly replaced by his toothy smile. At that moment, I knew why I felt so strange around him. It wasn't just that he was selfish; rather, I was truly seeing him for the first time—not as the handsome, well-groomed, wealthy Gerd, but as the ill-tempered, spoiled little rich boy whose charm wasn't working.

_What a fraud!_ I approached him slowly, holding his eyes with mine, until I stood before him. "So?"

He looked as if he didn't know what had just hit him. "It's...You're gorgeous!"

"Good!" I smiled. "Now, let's eat." I turned away from him and toward Sophia, who was clapping her hands and smiling broadly.

"I did good?"

"You did _great_! Are there shoes?"

She laughed and walked toward a bag filled with shoeboxes, removing them one at a time before finding the shoes that went with the dress.

"Here." She handed me the box.

I opened the lid that revealed a beaded pair of black heels and used Sophia's shoulder for balance, as I put them on. "Purse?" I asked.

Sophia smiled and searched through the remaining bags, finally producing a black beaded purse with a long, thin shoulder strap.

I transferred my essentials into the silky interior and said, "Ready."

Gerd just stood there, speechlessly staring at my transformation.

Sophia smiled at him and grabbed his hand, and they both followed me out of the room.

The hotel restaurant, which only took reservations booked months in advance, miraculously found a table for three within minutes of my arrival.

_Heck of a dress!_ I smiled as the maître d' escorted us to his best table.

When it came time to order, I took charge, choosing several cold appetizers involving seafood such as sushi, lox with capers, and shrimp cocktail. _Cold fish? I'll show him cold fish...and he can eat some while he's at it!_

After the waiter left, Sophia leaned toward me. "Seafood night in Stantonville?"

"Just a craving," I said with a wink to cover the lie.

Throughout dinner, I was barely civil toward Gerd, only occasionally making small talk with him, while engaging in lengthy, animated conversation with Sophia.

Once Gerd paid for our outrageously expensive meal, I looked at Sophia and said, "Let's go dancing."

Gerd reached in his back pocket to put his much thinner wallet away. "Aren't you tired?"

"I guess I found my second wind," I said. "Maybe it's this dress."

We left the hotel and caught a cab to the closest nightclub where we wouldn't be overdressed. Sophia and I danced for hours, mainly with each other, while Gerd fumed in a dark booth, watching our purses and downing cocktails.

After witnessing Sophia and I dancing with two affectionate, model-gorgeous twins, Gerd reached his boiling point. "Ready?" he asked, handing my new purse to me.

The twins clearly took offense to their dance partners being taken away and jerked their shoulders back in protest. "Hey, buddy," one said, "they're with us."

Gerd gave Sophia her purse, and with his back to me, turned to the twins. "Are you sure about that?"

Before the twins could offer a reply, Gerd forcefully grabbed me by the wrist and nearly dragged me out of the club. Sophia followed, with the clickety-clack of her heels making a racket on the wooden nightclub floors.

"Ow! Dang it, Gerd! Let go of me!" I tugged on my wrist as we exited the building.

Furious, Gerd yanked me toward him and forced me into a waiting cab. Sophia climbed silently in beside him and closed the door.

No one spoke until we were back at the hotel room.

"How could you humiliate me like that?" he demanded as he slammed the door.

"Goodnight." Sophia said, escaping to one of the rooms in the suite.

"Humiliate you? And just how did I do that?" I asked, staring into his crimson face.

"By dancing with those buffoons!"

"Well, nothing was stopping _you_ from dancing with me."

"Right, as if I enjoy dancing with two drunk girls making fools of themselves!"

"Thanks for noticing that I didn't have anything to drink all night!" I screamed.

"Uh..." he stuttered, clearly losing his momentum in the debate.

"Oh, that's right. You were too busy being humiliated and drinking alone in the corner!" I said, on a roll.

"But—"

I was now within inches of his stammering face. "Tell you what, Gerd. Let me save you any further embarrassment by breaking up with you!"

"No, wait. I just...I didn't—"

"Actually, you _did_. Goodbye, Gerd."

I went to grab my purse and suitcase, when Sophia burst out of her room. "Nooo! You can't break up! Nooo!"

"Soph?"

She ran toward me. "Please, Em! You just can't. It'll ruin everything!"

"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked. "Didn't you see how he treated me at the club, jerking me around like that?"

Gerd gave Sophia a hard stare that caused her to stop in mid-step. "Butt out, Sophia!"

She stood there, looking from Gerd to me, then turned around and went back into her room, closing the door behind her.

I turned back to Gerd and saw his angry eyes still burning holes in the place where Sophia had been standing. _Wow_. W _hat a jerk!_

Gerd noticed me staring at him a little too late; he was caught for the second time that day. Although his expression softened a bit, it would never look the same to me. I couldn't stand it or him. "I blew it, didn't I?" he finally asked.

"Yes." I couldn't lie.

"I'm sorry," he said, holding my gaze in his.

"Me too." I was too exhausted to be angry.

I, once again, tried to grab my suitcase, but Gerd stopped me.

"Don't leave. This is Sophia's suite. I'll go." He leaned to give me a kiss on the cheek and started walking toward the door. Before he left, he put his hand on the doorknob for several seconds without opening it, then turned to me. "For what it's worth, I really do care about you."

"I know," I said, walking toward him. _Only not as much as you care about yourself._

"Goodbye, Emily." His formerly enraged eyes were now tinged with sadness.

I gave him a hug. "Goodbye, Gerd."

He opened the door and left, then closed it behind him.

I stayed up all night with the weeping, inconsolable Sophia. I tried everything I could think of to cheer her up including saying, "Well, now you have me all to yourself!" Nothing worked. My last thought before I finally fell asleep was, _Why is she more upset than me?_

* * *

When I finally opened my eyes, it was past noon. I walked into the main part of the suite and noticed that the shopping bags had been removed.

George was standing at the window and turned to smile as he heard my approach. "Sophia has gone home. She truly loves you both and was already planning your wedding in her head. I guess you wrecked her plans."

That explains me ruining everything.

"She hung one of your new outfits in the bathroom. Please try to hurry. We are already behind schedule."

"Behind schedule?"

"Yes, I will be escorting you to Evergreen Research Corporation. Our plane is waiting."

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Dear Maude,

Wow! What a weird few days. I arrived back in New York and realized I really don't like Gerd as much as I thought I did. I guess I finally took your advice seriously and stood back and surveyed my landscape. He's all show. How did I miss that? I guess I was hypnotized—swallowed whole—by his good looks and fancy car. Deep down, I must have known something wasn't right, because I didn't even think to invite him to Papa Bob's funeral. I wanted to be alone with my family, and I'm glad I was. Spending time at home really brought me back to my senses. I can't believe that I actually dated a guy like that. I also can't believe he wanted to date me. There was something strange about the whole thing, something I couldn't quite figure out. Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore, because we broke up.

The odd thing is that Sophia is more depressed about it than I am. I'm actually relieved, so much so that I feel kind of guilty for not feeling worse about it. Sophia was so upset that she left without saying goodbye. Then her dad, George, offered to fly with me to my job. Sophia and I were going to drive there together, so I guess he must feel obligated to get me there. Who knows? So that's what we're doing now, and we didn't exactly fly commercial. He's snoring, and I'm writing. Their corporate jet is really beautiful. I don't know much about planes, but the interior is all leather and wood-grain, kind of like Gerd's sports car. The bathroom has gold fixtures. It's just amazing.

I'll write more when I get there.

Love,

Emily

# Chapter Seven

**OUR DESTINATION WAS** the private landing strip of Evergreen Research Corporate Headquarters, generally referred to as The Campus. It was located in a rural area, just a short plane ride from New York City. Unfortunately, we landed in the dark, so I wasn't able to take in an aerial view. _Next time._ I hoped, anyway, as I __ stared out the window.

The landing strip was adjacent to a small terminal, where a limo awaited our arrival. Once we were loaded into the car, we were driven down a windy, tree-lined road for nearly half-an-hour. I fought the urge to ask, "Are we there yet?" but I knew that George, like the old Sophia, had little or no sense of humor, so I continued to stare quietly out the window.

Finally, we came to a clearing that was home to a large fountain containing marble dolphin statues. It marked the end of the road, which then looped around the fountain and rejoined itself on the other side.

Although the statues and plumes of water were massive, I nearly overlooked them, drawn instead to the enormous Victorian-style manor on the other side of the fountain. It seemed to be lit up like a giant Christmas tree. _Can't miss that!_ I shook my head, __ mesmerized by its sheer size.

"Where are we?" I asked as I continued to stare out the window.

"This is Winston Manor," George said proudly.

My throat suddenly went dry, but I managed to ask, "You mean _your_ house?"

He laughed, clearly amused by my surprise. "Well, I share it with research."

I was transfixed on the manor as the limo stopped at the base of the front stairs. _It's all in the details_. I thought of Maude and tried to keep my mouth from gaping open.

Although it was dark, I could tell the house was one of the largest I had ever seen. It stood at least four-stories tall, sprinkled with pointy spires of various sizes across the roofline. Its length was difficult to measure in the dark, but it seemed to be at least as long as two city blocks. It was massive and extremely intimidating, and it appeared to grow in size as we came to a stop before it.

Once we exited the limo, George gestured to the main door and said, "Shall we?"

At the top of the stairs, we were met by a sour-faced woman whose tight bun appeared to have contributed or possibly created her unpleasant features. "Lord Winston, welcome back."

Lord? What? Did I hear that correctly?

"Thank you, Claurice. This is our new guest, Miss Stanton."

"Yes, of course. Pleased to meet you, miss." She curtseyed slightly.

"Thank you. Nice to meet you as well." I offered her my hand.

She shook it nervously and dropped it as soon as she was finished.

Oops. Maybe they don't do that here.

We entered the house through massive wooden double-doors that led into a marble-covered entryway; that portion alone was larger than most houses in my part of the world and much fancier. I could have moved my belongings into that space and been the envy of most. The walls were covered with a floral wallpaper, so realistic that the flowers seemed to be growing out of them. Mirrors, paintings, and sconces lined both sides of the entry, surrounded by several pieces of ornately carved Victorian furniture, including a small table and two tapestry covered chairs. Large vases, intricately painted and trimmed in gold, decorated the hallway. The ceiling dripped with a giant crystal chandelier that hung on a huge chain from a white, vine-patterned medallion affixed to a stamped, copper-covered ceiling. It was amazing.

"Once you get settled," George said, "you can join everyone for dinner in the dining room. Someone will get you when it's ready."

"Thank you," I said simply, then smiled. I didn't know whether to call him George or Lord Winston in front of Claurice, so I decided to leave his name out of it.

After George left, Claurice picked up my suitcase. "Follow me."

I let her carry it, not wanting to make the same mistake that I did with the handshake.

Just off the entrance was a massive staircase that seemed to be more than twice as wide as any I had ever ascended before. The dark, wooden stair rail consisted of finely carved spindles topped with what appeared to be a single piece of wood that ran the length of the stairway. It was larger around than I could have grasped with both hands and was polished to a shine. _How_ g _reat for sliding!_ I ran my fingers along it as we climbed the stairs to the third floor.

We walked down a hallway for several minutes across runner-lined wooden floors, passing numerous closed doors, more wallpaper, paintings, mirrors, small tables, and chairs, until we finally stopped outside one of the doors.

"This should suit you." Claurice opened the door with a skeleton key. She went in ahead of me, turned on the lights, and placed my suitcase on the bed. She handed me the key, then walked out of the room and back down the hall. "Don't lose it!" she said over her shoulder.

"Thank you," I called after her, but she offered no response. "You're welcome," I replied for her in a murmur, then turned my attention back to my room.

From my spot in the doorway, I surveyed my landscape. The room was overly decorated yet tasteful. The walls were covered with yet another pattern of wallpaper, more delicate and less busy than those I saw walking from the front door. I never cared for the presence of wallpaper in my world, and I spoke to the poor walls as if they had been given a choice: "Well, it doesn't make me want to chuck, so I guess it will do."

The floors were similar to those in the hallway—wood polished to a shine, covered with gigantic tapestry patterned rugs. A beveled mirror greeted me to the right as I walked into the room. The frame was gilded, in a vine pattern, and it was so large it consumed most of one wall. "Better than another gaudy piece of artwork," I said, then turned my attention to the enormous painting of a French landscape that covered the opposite wall. "Sadly enough, that thing probably cost a fortune."

An immense wardrobe loomed unwelcomingly along the wall next to the French painting. I shakily reached out and opened the doors, expecting something to jump out or fall on me as I pulled them free. Instead, I was met by the shopping bags filled with the clothes Sophia had bought when I went home.

I laughed and shut the doors, then turned around to examine the bed. It was a bulky beast of a thing, swallowing up most of the room, not at all cozy and inviting like my one back home. I noticed that the remaining furniture was sparse, consisting of a small dressing table and chair and two nightstands on either side of the four-poster monster. _I think the bed ate the rest of my furniture!_ I couldn't look away; fearing I would be next. "Must have a special mattress." I pictured my grandparents' king-sized bed and doubled it in my head to match the monstrosity.

Next to the wardrobe stood an almost normal-sized door that led to my own private bathroom, with the floor tiled in black and white marble. A large curtain-covered window filled most of one wall, while the others were painted a solid white. "No wallpaper? Thank God," I said as I walked into the bathroom.

A white pedestal sink occupied the space just below an oval, beveled-glass mirror. The toilet was an old one that had a pull chain descending from a tank located several feet above the bowl. I pulled the chain to make sure it would flush. "It works!" I smiled, relieved.

A giant, clawfoot tub occupied the remainder of the bathroom. The only thing missing was a shower. "Dang! Maybe they have one down the hall."

I exited the bathroom to survey the rest of my space. Just outside and perpendicular to the bathroom on the left, stood a wall filled with floor-to-ceiling curtains. I found the center opening of the massive group of fabric and pulled it apart to reveal a set of French doors, surrounded on either side by more windows. I unlocked and opened the doors that led to a balcony overlooking the rear of the house and the gardens below.

"Wow!" I was mesmerized by what I could see of the plants, ponds, and trees that seemed to go on forever, continuing into the darkness.

The spell was suddenly broken, however, when I heard the sound of a throat clearing behind me. I turned around to see a younger version of Claurice standing in the doorway.

"I'm here to take you to dinner," she said, without expression.

"Oh, okay. Thanks." I closed and locked the door to the balcony and turned toward the girl.

She motioned to the curtains. "You need to close those too."

"Why?"

"Because the lord wants them closed," she snapped.

It seemed an odd request, but I still closed the curtains and walked toward the door. As I drew closer, I noticed her eyeing me up and down, focusing on my pants.

"You can't wear those," she said.

I stared down at my new jeans as she walked into the room and began to rummage through the shopping bags in my closet.

With the efficiency of Sophia, she pulled out a dress and matching sweater and handed them to me. "I'll wait in the hall," she said, then closed the bedroom door behind her.

Rather than argue, I changed into the clothes and met her in the hallway.

"Lock your door."

"Boy, there are sure a lot of rules," I said, shaking my head as I locked the bedroom door with the key Claurice had given.

"Yes, and the sooner you get used to them the better."

_Tough crowd_. I turned to look at her as we started down the hallway. "What's your name?"

"Sorry, it's Catherine."

"Hi, Catherine, I'm Emily."

"I know," she said and quickened her pace.

_Done. Finished. I guess that's it. Gee, nice to meet you too_. _Aren't manners in the rules?_

We walked the rest of the way to dinner in silence.

The dining room, like the rest of the house, was enormous. In the center, sat a large rectangular table that could accommodate at least fifty people. The décor was ornate, with an abundance of lace-accented linens, gold, and carved wood. One wall of the room held dozens of floor-to-ceiling windows, with glass doors periodically inserted to allow access to the outside.

Catherine led me to one of the chairs and pointed to it. "Your assigned seat, miss. You must only sit here."

I looked for numbers or names on or near the seats and place cards on the table, but I saw none. "How can you tell which is which?"

"Count," she said, then walked away and sat in another seat

_Great._ _I'm the sixth from the end._ I made a mental note, then seated myself and tried to make eye contact with the others around me. Unfortunately, all eyes were directed at the empty, white plates in front of them. No one said a word—not to me and not to each other. The room was almost silent, with the exception of the staff setting up trays along one side. After several minutes, a small bell rang, and everyone placed their napkins on their laps.

I also arranged a napkin on my lap— _Baah-Baah!—_ and kept my best sheep imitation to myself.

Once the napkins were off the table, the staff began to serve the meal, which first consisted of soup, then mixed vegetables and roasted lamb. Another bell rang after all were served, and the silverware began to clink as everyone started to eat. I watched as those around me used their silverware in ways I'd never witnessed before, sliding their spoons across their bowls in unison, then tipping them in the same direction to get the last drop.

I tried to imitate the others in an awkward attempt to capture the soup that remained in the bottom. _I guess drinking from the bowl is out of the question._

After the bowls were removed and the entrée and vegetables were served, the bell rang again, and those around me cut their meat into small pieces and placed them gingerly in their mouths. They chewed the lamb in an almost calculated way and did not take their next bites until the last were swallowed. I tried to copy them, but I couldn't seem to master the technique before the food grew cold. Dinner seemed to take hours, and I tired of eating well before I actually felt full.

_Tom wouldn't cut it here._ I pictured him talking with his mouth full of lamb that he'd eaten with his fingers, then reaching across the table for another helping of vegetables, all within the first five minutes of having been served. He was usually finished before I even started to eat. _No, Tom wouldn't do well here at all._

After the plates were cleared, another bell sounded, and the group stood up and left the room. I followed, hoping to finally engage in some form of conversation with anyone who would listen. Instead, everyone walked silently in a single-file line. When they reached the third floor, they shuffled into their respective rooms, one after another, closing their doors behind them. In no time, I was left in the hallway alone. I unlocked my door and went in, then locked it behind me.

Sunday, June 10, 2012, Cont.,

Dear Maude,

I arrived at the Evergreen Research Corporate Headquarters, or The Campus, only to discover that it's actually the estate of Sophia's dad, George. It is a sprawling place, probably covering a few thousand acres. It's outside New York City—beyond that, I have no idea where it is, because we landed in the dark. Aside from all the land, The Campus has an enormous Victorian mansion on it called Winston Manor, and the staff refers to George as Lord Winston. Can you believe it? Well, either way, the place is beyond words. I even have my own room.

The weird thing, though, is that the people here act like robots. They're probably scholarship students like me, but they don't talk or anything. They just follow the rules and routines. It's really kind of scary. A girl named Catherine led me to dinner, and she acted as if she lost her personality. I hope she finds it soon, and I really hope she doesn't steal mine in my sleep. Regardless, I'm going to follow your advice and fill a silent room with my ears and not my mouth. Mum's the word, Maude!

I'll write more tomorrow—unless, of course, they feel the need to confiscate my pen. I think I better start locking up my journal when I'm not using it. They probably have a rule about that too.

Love,

Emily

P.S. _I tried to call mom after dinner, but there was no reception. Just my luck!_

# Chapter Eight

**SLEEPING IN THAT** gigantic bed brought back memories of nightmares from my childhood. I imagined being swallowed up by a giant marshmallow and suffocated in its gooey clutches. The bloated beast terrified me, so I grabbed a few blankets and pillows off the bed and made a soft resting spot in the clawfoot tub.

"Bullet-proof!" I said, finally able to close my eyes.

I slept straight through until morning, when the house was suddenly filled with the loud bugling of a trumpet piped through hidden speakers throughout the manor.

"Good God!" My voice echoed off the bathroom walls.

I climbed out of the tub and returned the blankets to "The Beast," as I now affectionately called the bed.

As I headed back to the tub to run my bath, I heard a knock at the door. Before I could answer it, I saw a piece of paper sliding underneath. I picked up the note and read it aloud, "Breakfast will be served at seven sharp. Dresses only."

I looked around my room for a clock but didn't see one, so I checked the time on my cell phone. It was already six thirty. After a quick, shallow bath and tooth brushing, I opened the wardrobe doors and searched the shopping bags for a dress. I found a simple green cotton one, paired it with black shoes, and left for breakfast, remembering to lock my door behind me.

"Thank you, Sophia," __ I whispered when I stopped to admire my outfit in a hallway mirror. _Once again, your shopping trip saved the day._

Breakfast was as lifeless as dinner, with the exception of it being a buffet line instead of a sit-down meal. _Gee,_ _I can't wait for lunch_. Throughout the entire meal, I fought an almost uncontrollable urge to squish the scrambled eggs through my teeth and smile at the person next to me. I had to eat quickly to avoid acting on it.

Once we were dismissed from the table, Catherine tapped me on the shoulder. "Come with me. I need to take you to your orientation."

I just smiled, thinking in my best robot voice, _Hell-o. My name is Cath-rine. Please foll-ow me..._

Catherine led me out of the dining room and down a long hallway, to an arched opening. From there we descended a dimly lit, windy, stone stairway.

"Are you taking me to the dungeon?" I asked.

Catherine simply replied with, "Hold the railing."

_No kidding._ I already had a death-grip on the cold, iron railing, which saved me from slipping dozens of times before finally reaching the bottom of the stairs. There, we were greeted by an icy draft that permeated my thin cotton dress. "It's freezing!" I said with a shiver.

"You'll get used to it," Catherine said. Then, without stopping or turning to check on my welfare, she led me down a frigid, flagstone hallway.

"If I see a rat, I'm out of here," I said through chattering teeth. Apparently, I was talking to myself. _Oh! There's one. No, wait. I guess that's just Cath-bot! Hehe!_

The hall was sparsely lit by torch-like sconces placed sporadically throughout the corridor. I shivered uncontrollably as we continued into the near darkness, past rows of dusty wine bottles stacked on racks in cubbies carved in the walls on both sides of the walkway.

"What a wine cellar," I said to Catherine.

Again, I received no reply.

"There must be thousands of bottles here," I added, trying to take my mind off the cold while we walked toward a light at the end of the hallway.

As we drew closer, I realized we were approaching an elevator door. Catherine reached it first and quickly hit the down button. Once the elevator arrived, she silently motioned for me to board it. While I was doing so, she reached in, hit a button, and backed away from the door.

"Aren't you coming?" I asked.

"No, just you."

The door closed before I could stop it. I scanned the inside of the elevator, looking for a button to open the door, but I found none. The button Catherine had pushed seemed to be glowing at me instead. It read, "Sub 1," and there was a star on it. Suddenly, adrenaline replaced my shivering.

"Always bring your pepper spray! Always bring your pepper spray!" I chanted to myself. _No purse; no spray; no nothing! This is definitely not a story I'm going to tell Mom...if I ever see her again_. I looked up at the blinking numbers of the floors as they took turns lighting up the panel above the door.

Once the door opened on the designated floor, I used my foot to keep it from closing and took a look around. The space was nothing more than a small, concrete room, barely wider than the elevator opening, with another door just a few steps in front of me. I nearly did the splits, keeping one foot behind me in the elevator and the other in front, bringing me just within reach of the other door.

When I tried to turn the knob, a female voice filled the small space with a loud bark: "Name!"

I looked toward the sound coming from above me and noticed the video camera, siren, flood lights, and speakers attached to the ceiling. I immediately stood up straight and faced the door, only to hear the elevator whoosh closed behind me. "I-I'm Emily, Emily Stanton," I mumbled, feeling ridiculous.

"Speak up!" the voice boomed down at me.

"Emily Stanton!" I nearly shouted in reply.

I heard a buzzing sound, followed by a click, so I grabbed the knob and pushed it open.

On the other side was a reception desk, manned by a thin, almost leathery, older lady with her hair imprisoned by the same tight bun Claurice and Catherine wore. She stared at me through a pair of beady, expressionless eyes. "Yes?"

"I'm here for orientation." I looked at her, then at the rear side of the monitor on the desk in front of her, hoping it hadn't captured my performance in the entryway.

"Name?" she asked, although her voice was clearly the same one that had yelled at me from the loudspeaker.

_Didn't we do this already?_ I took a deep breath, thinking it wise to just humor her. "Emily Stanton."

"Yes, one moment." She picked up her phone and pushed a button.

"Tim, Miss Stanton is here." After a pause, she said, "Good, I'll let her know." She looked at me while returning the phone to the receiver. "Someone will be right with you."

"Thank you." I tried to be friendly, but her attention was quickly drawn to her monitor.

The reception area was only slightly larger than the entry off the elevator and chair less, with the exception of the receptionist's, so I stood where I was, hoping Tim, whoever he was, would save me soon.

A few moments later, he did rescue me, at least from the reception area. "Hello, Miss Stanton, my name is Timothy Wilson, and I will be your orientation coordinator." He stood in the doorway just past the receptionist's desk, using his body to prop the door open.

Mr. Wilson was an unnaturally pale, middle-aged man with little to no body fat. He was also devoid of facial hair, clearly compensating for such a loss with an overabundance of brown, ringlet-like curls spewing from all corners of his head. The tip of his pointy nose seemed to constantly drip unabated, despite the ever-present white handkerchief that he kept for such occasions in his back pocket. His thin dress shirt revealed a white undershirt beneath, and his knit slacks seemed to be missing their shape, hanging uselessly from his frail-looking frame.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Wilson," I said, hoping my lie wasn't obvious as I shook his clammy hand. I fought the urge to wipe mine on my dress as he made a notation on the clipboard he was carrying.

Then he said, "Thank you" to the bunned receptionist.

I turned to thank her as well but stopped short when I glimpsed her monitor's clear view of the entry off the elevator. _Lovely._

We left the small room and walked down a corridor lined with doors on both sides.

He stopped at one marked "Dr. Michaels." Inside, I received my first of many interviews with various specialists. In fact, my entire week was filled with those exams, disguised as interviews, with everyone from dentists and optometrists to psychologists and, my favorite, gynecologists.

By the time Sunday came, I was hoping for a break and a chance to catch up on my sleep and explore the house. Instead, I awakened to a knock on my bedroom door, followed by another note on the floor.

"Dang it," I whined.

I climbed out of my tub-bed to retrieve the note from the floor, and read it aloud: "A trunk is waiting for you in the hall. Please pack your things and be ready to change rooms by eight sharp."

"I hope Catherine isn't my tour guide this time," I muttered.

I opened the door to retrieve the steamer trunk on wheels. The large chest seemed to protest at the top of its lungs as I pulled it into the room. Relieved that I could fit it through the doorway, I celebrated by opening the lid and staring into the disappointing emptiness. "What did you expect? I asked and answered myself aloud, "Apparently, gold doubloons are out of the question."

A glance at my cellphone told me it was already a quarter past seven, so I abandoned the trunk and quickly removed my bedding from the tub. Then I made The Beast and took one of my efficient yet unsatisfying shallow baths. Afterward, I found an unworn dress in the shopping bags and put it on, then packed my dirty clothes in a bag beneath the remaining unworn outfits in the trunk. Everything fit, including Maude's little suitcase that I brought with me. Once the packing was complete, I found just enough time to brush my teeth and hair before a knock came at the door.

When I opened it, I was greeted by the first friendly face I'd come across since my arrival.

"Hello, miss. I'm Robert," he said, smiling. "I've come to fetch your trunk." Robert was about my age and stood a lanky six feet tall, dressed handsomely in a black uniform suit with tails.

I smiled in return. "Pleased to meet you, Robert...and thank you. I'm Emily."

I added my bathroom bag to the trunk and closed the lid. Then I stepped out of the way so that he could roll the trunk on its inefficient, squeaky wheels onto a cart he pulled in from the hall.

"Follow me please, miss," he said, gesturing for me to exit the room.

_Happily_. I was truly grateful that Catherine wasn't leading the way.

I followed him to an elevator at the end of the hall, and it carried us to a lower floor. After a short walk down a hallway, we entered a different, much more ornate wing of the manor.

At that point, I was approached by a young girl, who curtseyed and introduced herself as "Rose." She looked like a porcelain doll, standing less than five feet tall, with flawless skin and perfectly symmetrical features that appeared painted on by an experienced artist. Her giant hazel eyes were framed by extremely long eyelashes, and her chestnut-brown hair was swept up into a bun that was stylish, unlike the severe buns Claurice, Catherine, and the receptionist wore. Rose belonged behind glass, part of a valuable collection, instead of standing before me, wearing a black maid's outfit.

"Nice to meet you, Rose," I replied.

"I'm your maid, miss," she said proudly.

_My maid?_ I was completely confused, but after a week of orientation, she could have claimed to be my long-lost half-sister, and I would have been happy to meet her. "Very good." I just smiled, not knowing what else to say.

She smiled back and walked with me, telling me the history of the manor house as we went. "This is the original section, miss. They began construction in 1870 and completed it in 1885. The wing you were in previously was constructed much later, from 1895 to 1903, for the comfort of the original lord's sporting and social guests. They called it the 'Bachelor's Wing.' He very much loved his parties." She spoke animatedly, almost lost in the pleasure of reciting the information she was imparting.

"Very interesting," I said, but I was more interested in learning why I was being moved.

When we finally reached my new room, my questions were forgotten. The bedroom had a similar layout to my last one, but it was at least three times the size, with the addition of more furniture, including a writing desk and couches. The bed was equally huge, but the mattress and blue bedspread that covered it looked more comfortable than The Beast's. The wardrobe was larger and deeper, but appeared less massive, with a lighter set of ornately carved doors. Most importantly, the bathroom had a tub with a shower. I was in heaven.

Robert deposited the trunk in front of the wardrobe and turned to leave.

"Thanks again, Robert," I said with a smile.

He stopped and smiled back at me. "My pleasure, miss." Then he pulled his cart out of the room, winking at Rose in the process.

Rose acted as if she didn't notice and just stood next to the trunk. "May I open it, miss?"

"Sure."

I briefly wondered why she wanted to open the trunk, but my curiosity was drawn to the closed balcony doors behind me. I stared through the glass at the grounds beyond, wondering if I was allowed to open the doors.

As if she could read my mind, Rose silently opened them for me. "It's not as chilly as it looks, is it miss?"

"Not at all." I walked out onto the balcony, glad that the rules from the old room didn't apply to the new one.

It was the first fresh air I had breathed since the night of my arrival. Not only could we not open our balcony doors or curtains in the other wing, but they wouldn't allow us to go outside either, and the cold silence there was just as suffocating.

_I hope they're not teasing me with this room!_ I shivered at the thought.

"Would you like a sweater, miss?" Rose held up a black button-up she'd just removed from the trunk.

"No, I'm fine. Thanks, Rose."

Still staring into the room, I realized that she had not only opened the trunk but also emptied the contents of the shopping bags and placed the clothes on hangers in the wardrobe.

I quickly walked into the room. "Oh, Rose! You are so sweet. You didn't have to do that, but thank you."

She looked surprised. "Of course, miss. That's what I'm here for."

I was stunned. _Is this really happening? Is she really my personal maid?_

"Are you displeased?" Rose asked, a look of concern on her face.

"No, not at all, just enjoying your efficiency," I replied lamely.

"Thank you, miss." She smiled, then turned her attention back to the trunk.

When she reached my bag of dirty clothes, I interrupted, "Those aren't clean."

"Oh, no problem, miss. I will wash them for you."

I thought back to my childhood and couldn't remember a time when I didn't do my own laundry. Nana Rosie had insisted that I learn how to take care of myself, and that included washing my own clothes.

"Thank you," I said. _I could really get used to this!_

After a few more minutes of unpacking, Rose checked her watch and stood up quickly. "Breakfast, miss?"

"Oh, good. I'm starving." I had forgotten how hungry I was until she mentioned the morning meal.

We left the trunk for later, and Rose led me to the doorway of the main dining room.

"If it's all right with you, miss, I will return to the room and continue to unpack your things."

"Of course, Rose. Thank you so much."

She curtseyed and left me to my breakfast.

I slowly entered a dining room that put the one in the other wing to shame. The wooden floors boasted an almost hypnotic pattern that remained on my eyes as I looked into the light through the bank of windows and doors that filled one side of the room. The walls were solid plaster, in a light yellow hue, which complemented the many gold-framed mirrors and paintings that adorned them. The furniture consisted of a large table topped with an inlaid pattern of darker wood and gold, on gilded, carved legs. It was surrounded by gold-painted chairs for a hundred or more guests, as well as couches, chairs, and small tables scattered throughout the room. Both ends of the room contained massive marble fireplaces, so large that a half-dozen or more adult males, standing upright and side by side, could walk into them. In their full roaring splendor, I was sure they would have caused most small children to run away in horror. I was scared, and they didn't even have wood in them.

Along the remaining inside wall, stood a long, marble-covered buffet, with many cupboards and drawers to hold the linens, silver, crystal, and china necessary to feed the crowd that could fill the room. That morning, the buffet was covered with a large selection of fruit, breads and pastries, spreads, eggs, cooked meats, potatoes, and other breakfast choices. I was in such awe of the room and the sight of the food in front of me that I failed to notice George sitting at the head of the table.

"Miss Stanton?" he asked in his familiar, loud way.

I jumped, turning in the direction of his voice.

"I apologize, I certainly didn't mean to scare you." He chuckled, clearly pleased with himself.

I walked toward him, smiling and trying to decide how to address him. I chose to err on the side of safety. "Lord Winston, it's so good to see you."

He laughed with such force that I thought I would be covered with the eggs he had recently placed in his mouth. After he recovered, swallowed what was left, and wiped his face with a napkin, he rose from his chair. As I drew closer, he stepped toward me, grabbed me in a gigantic bear hug, and smiled down to me. "George, sweetheart. George!"

"Nice to see you...George." I tried to compose myself as I felt the blush creeping up my neck.

He let me go and walked me back to the buffet, then handed me a plate. "Nothing fancy for breakfast. Just help yourself."

"Thank you." I smiled, feeling the redness leave my face as I watched him return to his seat.

I loaded my plate with fruit, eggs, sausage, and muffins and walked with it toward the table. I paused when I got there, not sure where I was allowed to sit. I feared that a wrong choice would cause George to laugh and my plate to land upside down on the parquet floor.

Luckily, he tapped the table in front of the seat to his right, so I didn't have to guess.

_Phew!_ I smiled with genuine relief.

After I took my seat, a graying man in a black tuxedo-type uniform stood beside me. "Coffee or tea, miss?"

I looked up at him, deciding that he had to be the butler. "Tea, please."

He returned with a small teapot of hot water and a wooden box filled with an assortment of colorfully packaged tea bags. I chose the green tea and deposited it into my teapot, then later poured its contents into a cream-colored, gold-trimmed teacup. The tea, as well as the food, was just as amazing as the room I enjoyed them in.

George looked down at my nearly empty plate and smiled. "Good stuff?"

"Yes." I smiled in reply.

I could tell he was trying to make conversation, but we had so little in common that I wasn't sure how to return the gesture. George and his large, booming ways intimidated me. I preferred blending into a crowd rather than drawing one. However, sitting next to him without speaking felt extremely uncomfortable. Since it was my turn to say something, I chose the safest topic I could think of and hoped for the best. "How is Sophia?"

George paused and stared at his plate for several seconds before replying, "She's...gone away for a while."

I wiped my mouth with my napkin. "When will she be back?"

"Oh, I'm not sure." He took another bite.

"Is she still upset about Gerd and me breaking up?"

His eyes went to his plate again, and he chewed his breakfast and swallowed several times, as if he was in no hurry to answer. "Well, you know Sophia. She's too emotional for her own good."

_That does sound like Sophia._ But I wasn't satisfied. "I tried her on her cell phone a few times but couldn't get through."

"Unfortunately, we're kind of far from the city. There's no reception here." He smiled again and took a sip of coffee.

"Maybe I could try calling her on the house phone?"

"Emily, for now, it is best to give her her space." He wiped his mouth and placed the napkin on his plate. Then, George rang a small bell beside him on the table, and the butler returned to clear the plates.

"Thank you, Pleven," he said as the man left the room with an armful of dishes.

Just like that, breakfast was finished.

After the butler left, George asked, "Are you comfortable here?"

"Yes, very." I gave him the most grateful smile I could produce.

"Good. I won't be here for a few days, but Rose will take care of you while I'm gone."

"Thank you for her too. She's great." I stared down at the table and hesitated before my next question. "George?"

"Yes?"

I looked into his face. "Thank you for moving me to this part of the house. I was just wondering—"

"Of course! You're family." He rose from the table.

My question was forgotten as I stood and received another bear hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Welcome home, Emily." He smiled as he let me go and walked out of the room.

Home? Family?

Rose rescued me from my thoughts and spent the remainder of the morning giving me a more complete tour of the house and grounds of the estate. We started outside with the garden behind the house. It was filled with every color and variety of rose imaginable. An older man wearing a straw hat, a canvas jacket, and leather gloves met us at the edge of the garden and led me down the rows, naming each plant and showing me the differences in color, scent, stem, and thorn structure.

"I guess a rose isn't just a rose." I smiled and received a nearly toothless smile in return.

"No, mish," he whistled through his missing front teeth. "Ish not."

The rose garden led to a gazebo that overlooked a large pond, surrounded by enormous sugar maple trees.

The gardener followed my gaze. "Thosh treesh are more than a hundred yearsh old."

"Wow! If they could only speak."

"Good thing for them they can't, or we'd have a lot of fire wood!" He chuckled, then walked back toward the roses.

I watched him leave. _Maude would have liked you and your riddles._

The tour continued in the house, where we worked our way to the entryway I had first stepped into a week earlier. Rose seemed so informed about the manor that I couldn't resist asking her questions, including the one I wasn't able to ask George at breakfast.

"Do you know why my room was changed?"

"No, miss."

"Do you know who does?"

"No, miss." Without missing a beat, Rose continued to describe the entryway: "The wooden wall panels were imported from France, detailing scenes of country life. The entry table is made of mahogany and topped with marble from a famous quarry in Italy. They say that it once stood in the Palace of Versailles, but no one has been able to authenticate that. The chandelier of rock and crystal came from a manor house near London, when it received an overhaul."

We walked to the massive staircase that stood just to the right of the entrance.

"This railing was carved from a solid piece of mahogany. The spindles and stairs are all from the same tree."

Instead of ascending the staircase, though, as I had done on my first night, Rose turned and started walking in the direction from which we came. With a guide at my disposal, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to finally explore the surroundings I was unable to previously, so I stood at the base of the stairs and pointed skyward. "Rose, what about going up there?"

"Oh, miss, that's for the company. We're not allowed to go up there."

"Why not?"

"Claurice would have my job."

"Oh. Well, I wouldn't want that." I quickly joined her in her retreat through the entryway.

After the tour, Rose led me to a large conservatory that overlooked the rose garden. It reminded me of The Garden restaurant where I'd first met Gerd and George. The room resembled a big greenhouse stuck to the side of the manor house. There were large panes of glass on all but the inside wall, and even the ceiling was covered in glass. The interior was filled with large potted plants and comfortably cushioned white, wicker chairs and couches; their floral seats matched the colors of the rose garden outside. Several white, glass-covered wicker tables were situated throughout the room, and the interior wall was lined with shelves, filled with an assortment of teapots and cups displayed in a somewhat random pattern.

"Now I know where I'm going to spend my rainy days," I said to Rose.

"Yes, it's nice and bright." She smiled up at the ceiling. "Would you like to take tea here?"

"Tea?" _Ooh, fancy_! "Yes, I would love that!" I was eager to avoid the large, lonely dining room.

"Would you like to take it now, miss?" she asked, as if she knew I was hungry before I did.

"Yes, please, Rose."

She left me to choose a spot to sit, while she prepared the tea. Several minutes later, she returned, pushing a small wooden cart. She had Robert in tow, carrying a silver tray. He deposited it on the cart, winked at Rose, and left her blushing as he exited the room.

"He likes you," I couldn't help saying.

"Do you really think so?" Rose quickly placed her hand over her mouth that was now surrounded by crimson cheeks.

"Totally!" I said, enjoying someone else's blushing for a change.

The tea, like the breakfast, was amazing. The tray included a three-tiered serving platter filled with a selection of finger sandwiches and pastries. A separate crystal plate was devoted to hand-dipped, chocolate-covered marshmallows, strawberries, and various other fruit. Sugar cubes, honey, lemon slices, and cream were held in their own crystal serving pieces, chosen specifically for the task. The tray also held a hand-painted teapot with a matching cup and saucer.

"It's beautiful. I wish I could take a picture." I thought of my cell phone in my room and smiled as Rose started to take the things from the tray and place them on the low table in front of me.

"Thank you, miss," she said and continued to empty the tray. After everything was laid before me, Rose fussed with the placement of each item before taking a few steps back to have a final look at the table. "I'll leave you to enjoy your tea, miss. I've left a bell on the cart. Just ring it if you need anything else."

"Thank you, Rose, but won't you join me?"

"Oh, no miss. I can't. Claurice would never allow it." She then curtseyed and left me to my tea.

Rose reminded me of a young Nana Rosie, before life happened to her. She was about the same height, with similar features. I often missed Nana, with an ache inside that I found hard to suppress. It was one of those times, and I really wanted Rose to stay. _What a disappointment to be in such a beautiful room, having this amazing tea, with no one to share it._ I sadly stared out the window into the garden.

Once I finished eating, I rang my little bell. Robert returned with Rose to help her carry the tray back into the kitchen. They were so cute together. I couldn't help but smile at them as they appeared to try to hide their feelings while clearing the tea things.

After they left, I decided to find my way back to my room alone. Luckily, I had paid close attention and made it back without much effort. I opened my closet door and found all of my clothes hung neatly on hangers, including the freshly laundered and pressed outfits I had already worn. "Wow. That Rose is a keeper."

I closed the wardrobe and moved toward my French doors, which I opened. "Just because I can," I said, stepping onto the balcony. I smiled, breathing in the fresh air.

I left the doors open while I climbed onto my new, less beastly bed and covered myself with a quilt that lay folded at the bottom. Then, I opened my journal and began to write:

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Dear Maude,

I know it's been a while, but I spent my week being poked, prodded, and prognosticated upon by every form of specialist imaginable. Their offices are beneath the wine cellar in some subterranean office space. Catherine took me the long way the first day, nearly freezing me to death. I asked one of the specialists for a more direct route and was given one. Apparently, you can catch the elevator just down the hall from the dining room. I just love Catherine! She's the best!

Between all those lovely appointments, I dined with Catherine and Those-Who-Will-Remain-Speechless. Weee!

Fortunately, this morning I was moved into a room in an older part of the house. The bedroom is huge. This one has a shower, too, so all is well. I ate breakfast with George, who also lives in the old part of the house. Something is definitely strange about this place and the people who live here. George said that he moved me because I'm family, but that doesn't make sense. Why didn't he put me in the old part of the house from the start? I also found out that Sophia isn't here, and when I asked him if I could call and speak with her, he said she needs her space. Space? That girl is like any of Papa Bob's labs, especially Buddy. She would die without human contact. My ears are still open, and I'm trying to keep my mouth shut, but it isn't easy.

One good thing is that they gave me a housemaid. Her name is Rose, and she's absolutely adorable. I think she must be about eighteen. Her name is fitting, because she looks like a younger version of Nana Rosie. It's nice being spoiled. I don't even have to do my own laundry.

Sorry to make this short, but I want to catch a nap before dinner.

Love,

Emily

I put down my pen and pushed it and my journal under my mattress. Then, for the first time in more than a week, I fell into a deep sleep that lasted until morning.

# Chapter Nine

**THE NEXT WEEK** of orientation was nothing like the previous one. Instead of a knock, bugle, or a note under my door, my first morning began when Rose awakened me at seven o'clock, smiling from the foot of my bed. "Did you rest well, miss?"

"Yes." I blinked groggily, realizing that I was on top of my covers, still wearing my clothes.

"I came to call you for dinner last night, but saw how peaceful you were sleeping, so I just closed your French doors and thought it best to let you sleep." She hesitated. "I hope that was the right choice, miss?"

"Yes, Rose. Thank you. I didn't realize how tired I was."

"Mr. Wilson will be meeting with you after breakfast this morning, miss." She then continued without waiting for a reply, "Would you prefer I choose something for you to wear?"

"Absolutely." I was relieved to have someone else's brain thinking for me at that moment, while I shook the cobwebs out of mine.

Breakfast consisted of the same spread as the previous day, only on a smaller scale, and I was the only one eating it.

After Pleven cleared my plate, I finished my tea, and sat staring at the unlit fireplace that loomed along the wall several yards from the far end of the table. _It looks like a face with an open mouth._ I was unable to turn away. _Yuck! And the table looks like its tongue._ I slouched lower in my chair until I was eye-level with the tabletop, imagining that the table was a tongue that fit perfectly into the open mouth of the fireplace.

"Good morning, Miss Stanton." Mr. Wilson's voice traveled cheerily in my direction from the doorway.

I quickly sat up straight, then rose to greet him, noting his smile and the ever-present clipboard he was carrying. "Good morning, Mr. Wilson."

We shook hands, and he led me down the hall to the library, yet another impressive room. Upon entering, my eyes were drawn to the wall on my right that was entirely occupied, from floor to twenty-foot-high ceiling, with wooden shelves stocked with neatly arranged collections of hardback books. A large fireplace was centered on the opposite wall beneath the painting of a man standing next to a horse. A bank of large, red-curtained windows stood opposite the entry door, flanked by half a dozen leather-covered wingback chairs, each with their own floor lamp and smoking stand. Several long, rectangular tables with cushioned chairs sat in the middle of the room, and there were green reading lights along the center of each table. It was an awe-inspiring space, but my attention was constantly drawn back to the library ladder that rested on a track along the shelved wall. _I've always wanted to ride on one of those_. I imagined the possibilities.

Mr. Wilson offered me a seat in one of the leather chairs and handed me an overstuffed, three-ring binder. "This is your _Orientation Manual_."

"Thank you." I took the book, noticing that the logo of Evergreen Research Corporation, a large evergreen tree, was prominently plastered on the cover. I ran my fingers over it and instantly recognized where I'd seen it before: on the letterhead of the scholarship letters I had received and, most recently, on the tie and cufflinks that George wore the evening I first met him. I thought of the emblem on Gerd's car, and with a little imagination, I could picture the logo there as well.

"Let us start with Page One, shall we?" Mr. Wilson opened his identical binder.

I opened my copy and saw a letter addressed to me, followed by a series of tabs that ran the length of one side: "Art," "Etiquette," "History," "Music," "Penmanship," and "Sport."

Before I could go to any of these sections, Mr. Wilson looked across his book at me and said, "Please read it out loud."

_See Judy run_. I cleared my internal comments from my throat and turned my attention to the letter:

Dear Miss Stanton,

We would like to take this opportunity to welcome you to the Evergreen Research Corporation family. We are proud of the reputation we have built in the social research community. Founded in 1961, Evergreen Research Corporation has become the premier research facilitator for corporate, governmental and academic clients worldwide. Our thorough understanding of the societal factors that shape history has set us apart from the rest.

Our state-of-the-art corporate headquarters in Winston Heights, New York, The Campus, employs thousands of scientists, researchers and social professionals at the top of their fields. We are pleased that you have chosen to join our community and look forward to your future with our company.

Please take a few moments to read the attached list of rules and regulations. Your orientation coordinator, Mr. Timothy Wilson, is available to answer any questions you may have, so that your transition will be a smooth and pleasant one.

Again, welcome aboard!

Sincerely,

Evan Conroy

President, Evergreen Research Corporation

Mr. Wilson looked up from his manual. "Thank you, Miss Stanton. Now, do you have any questions so far?"

"Yes, I do." _Sorry, Maude, but I can't keep my mouth closed and miss an opportunity such as this._

"Okay..." He folded his hands across the notebook and looked at me.

"Where do the thousands of employees work?" I asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"The letter says that the company employs thousands of people. Where do they work?"

He cleared his throat several times, then said, "Yes, well, The Campus has many facilities that you will travel to throughout your tenure with us. You have only seen a portion of it, due to your night-time arrival." He didn't wait for any further questions before he said, "Now let's turn the page, and I will read the rules and regulations."

_Huh? What was that? Oh, no, that's okay. I didn't have any more questions_.

Dear Miss Stanton,

You have received this training manual because you have successfully completed a week of medically and scientifically established testing. Based on your results and your collegiate academic performance, you have been chosen to be among a select few candidates who will participate in a high level research project. Your exact placement in the program will be determined by the outcome of the orientation period through your personal performance and the reviews and recommendations of your instructors.

All new employees of Evergreen Research Corporation are expected to adhere to the following rules and regulations. Failure to do so could lead to disciplinary action and/or dismissal from the program. Those scholarship recipients who are dismissed from the program will be required to repay the funds received on their behalf, on a prorated basis, according to their dismissal date.

Holy-moly! Tuition, room and board, plus books for four years? That's more than $150k. Getting kicked out is not an option!

1. The orientation period is based on an estimated six-month time-line. During this time, employees are expected to remain on The Campus at all times, with the exception of medical or familial emergencies.

I can do that.

2. During the orientation period, employees are given Sundays off to recreate in the manner of their choosing. This time, however, must be spent on The Campus.

_It would take me six months just to find the front door of this place anyway._ I laughed to myself.

3. There will be no telephone, internet, mail, or other correspondence with outside parties during the orientation period. Your family has already been notified of your safe arrival. They were also made aware of this rule and have been given a number to contact for emergencies only.

I guess that explains the bad reception.

4. You are expected to attend all instructional and training sessions during the orientation period with the exception of cases of injury or illness as determined by The Campus physician.

_Okay. That should be easy._ I thought of my perfect attendance throughout my academic career.

5. All equipment and training materials received during and after the orientation period, including this manual, are the property of Evergreen Research Corporation and must be returned upon request.

If they mean this big, fat book, they can have it now!

6. Fraternization among employees of Evergreen Research Corporation, including but not limited to co-workers and/or instructors, is strictly prohibited and will be cause for immediate dismissal.

The thought of a relationship with Mr. Wilson turned my stomach. I needed to think of more than just a few rainbows and unicorns to clear that disgusting visual.

7. Being selected as an employee of Evergreen Research Corporation is a privilege and should be treated as one. Please respect your instructors' efforts and be prepared and on time for all of your sessions.

_A privilege? Weird, because I kind of feel as if I just got sucker punched in the gut_. I felt nauseated again.

"Well, Miss Stanton, I'm sure you have many questions, so why don't we address them before moving on?" Mr. Wilson again folded his hands on the manual and stared, unblinking, in my direction.

"Okay. Well, first, will I be able to go home for Christmas?"

"Yes. Your orientation period began last Monday, which was June 11, so you should be finished with time to spare. After the orientation is complete, we recommend that all employees spend several weeks with their families before beginning their new projects. Assignments are given after they return from that visit home."

"Thank you." I paused before launching my next question. "I've also been wondering why my room was changed?"

Mr. Wilson looked just past my shoulder briefly, then back at my face. "We place all of our incoming employees in the new wing of the house while they are completing medical testing." He paused to confer with his clipboard before continuing, "You were chosen to be a part of a new project, the details of which you will discover after your official placement has been determined. As a result, you were moved to a new room so that your orientation will correspond more closely to any upcoming assignment you may receive."

"What about the employees in the other wing?" I needed to know.

"Well, they didn't do as well on their testing, so they will be assigned to other, less prestigious projects once their orientation is completed."

_Wow!_ I stared at my notebook. _What a bummer._ When __ I looked up at him again, I said, "I didn't even know I was being tested for that reason."

"No, that was by design." He smiled. "Our doctors are exceptionally gifted in their fields."

I thought for a few seconds. "Will I be able to find out how I did on the tests?"

"I'm afraid that information is confidential, strictly...proprietary. Our processes are very specific, based on years of research, and must be safeguarded at all costs. I can tell you that if it were an assignment in school, you would have received an A-plus."

"Well, that's good to know." I smiled, feeling as if I knew more before I asked the question.

"Any further questions?" He stared at me without expression as my smile faded.

"Just one."

He finally blinked. "Okay..."

"Why wasn't I informed of these rules last week?"

Mr. Wilson answered my question in a single breath that seemed to start on one side of the room and end on the other: "Each of our programs has its own set of rules. Some are stricter than others. The rules are determined by the medical and scientific test scores you received during your first week of orientation, as well as your academic test scores. The scores then determine the subsequent instruction and training upon which the remainder of your orientation program will focus. Therefore, we cannot distribute rules until the second week of orientation."

"Now, I understand." Although I really didn't. In fact, I didn't actually listen to most of his answers. As a result, I felt compelled to pretend to be extra grateful. "Thank you so much, Mr. Wilson, for answering my questions."

"Of course, Miss Stanton. Now, let's move on to your training and instruction."

Great. Just when I could almost see a light at the end of the tunnel, he slams the door in my face.

He turned to the first tab in the notebook, randomly flipping pages as he spoke. "The program you will be participating in will cover American society from approximately 1890 to 1920, with an emphasis on 1910. You will receive instruction in period-specific life, gleaned from textbooks, lectures, and hands-on applications in the areas of art, etiquette, history, music, penmanship, and sport. Your instructors are all experts in their fields and will present the material as it applies to both genders, but more specifically from a female perspective. All hands-on instruction will be geared toward a female, namely you. Successful completion of the program will result in your being considered a specialist in this time frame."

My head was spinning. I felt like I was suffering from information overload and needed a nap.

Possibly sensing my sudden lack of focus, Mr. Wilson looked up at me. "Everything we discuss today can be found in the _Orientation Manual_."

_Thank God!_ I sighed with relief.

With that, Mr. Wilson proceeded to address each of the tabs in order. "Your art instruction will consist of art history, as well as the hands-on exploration of various media such as watercolors, oils, acrylics, and pen and ink. Your instructor, Dr. Timbor, is a world-renowned artist who has taught at such prestigious institutions as Parsons in Paris and New York.

_Never heard of him._ I stifled a yawn.

"Your next instructor, Madame Dubois, has taught social manners and etiquette to women and young ladies throughout the world. From debutants and beauty queens to business professionals and heads of state, Madame Dubois has taught them all. She will show you, in great detail, what was expected of women at the beginning of the last century."

Good luck.

"As you might recall from your university studies, the period from 1890 to 1920 saw great change in our country. Your college professor, Dr. Moore, will be your history instructor and will provide you with an in-depth worldview of the period, from a social and historical perspective."

_Gee, I hope he wears a different costume every day_.

"Next, we're very pleased to have Ms. Lily Wood as your music instructor. Ms. Wood is an accomplished mezzo soprano and harpist who has performed with various orchestras and operatic companies throughout the world. She will present an overview of the music of the period and will instruct you in mastering one or more instruments."

"You mean I have to learn to _play_ them?" I interrupted.

"Yes. She and her team will also teach you the waltzes and other dances of the time."

Great. I have two left feet, and neither is attached. I didn't get kicked out of ballet for nothing.

"Your next subject, penmanship, will cover the Spencerian Script method, a very popular style of writing during this period. Your instructor, Mrs. Virginia Wadsman, is a well-known calligrapher. She will give you a brief history of the method, followed by months of hands-on instruction in the style, using pen and ink."

_Did I hear "months"?_ I sighed.

"Finally, Dr. Clark and his team will instruct you in the sports women of the period played or of which they were spectators. You will learn and practice sports during the week and participate in events on Saturdays."

_I bet I'll still get picked last for the team._ I recalled the merciless playground of elementary school, followed by my dismal high school PE experience.

"Okay." Mr. Wilson closed his notebook. "I know this was a lot of information to absorb. I suggest you spend the afternoon reading through the manual, and I will meet you back here tomorrow morning at eight o'clock to answer any further questions you may have. I will then introduce you to your instructors. Do you have any questions in the meantime?"

_None that I can ask without getting myself kicked out of the program._ My thoughts forced me to pause for a minute before asking a real question. "Actually, I was wondering if there will be other orientation employees participating with me?"

"No, Ms. Stanton. It will be just you."

I could hear the nails in the coffin. _No more hiding behind the tall kid in class. No more raising my hand after the teacher has chosen someone else to answer the question. No more blending into the crowd. Now, I am the crowd._ I just stared at the manual on my lap. _I wonder if it's too late to change my major._

"Well, I guess I will see you in the morning." Mr. Wilson stood, with his manual in his hand.

I stood up as well and shook his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Wilson." But I didn't feel very thankful at all.

"It's my pleasure. You're welcome to read your manual in here if you wish."

_The ladder!_ I tried not to sound too eager when I said, "Yes, I would. Thank you."

Once the door closed, I walked to the ladder and slid it along the track in both directions, making sure that it would move. Then, after waiting a respectable five minutes or so to make sure Mr. Wilson wasn't returning, I started my ascent. When I was a few rungs from the top, I pushed gently off one of the shelves, hoping to make the ladder slide along its track. Much to my delight, it glided smoothly to the opposite end of the book shelves. My next push was a little harder, and I moved faster than before. I tried again and again, picking up more speed each time. My only concern was trying to balance without falling off, but I soon mastered that and continued to slide along the track. Each time I glided toward the windows, I saw the _Orientation Manual_ glaring up at me from the leather chair below. I couldn't look away, and with every scoot past, it seemed to grow larger, until finally it felt as if it would reach up and bite me on the foot.

"Enough!" I called to the book. Then I stopped the ladder and climbed down. "Okay, you win." I loomed over the book with my hands on my hips. "Now, scoot over."

I spent the rest of the morning and the entire afternoon bonding with the leather chair and the manual. The massive notebook contained itineraries, course expectations, text, pictures, diagrams, graphs, and all forms of educational materials.

I mumbled as I thumbed through it, "Didn't I graduate already? This isn't a manual. It's a Bible!" I yawned, wide-mouthed, in protest.

After a brief break for my tea, which Rose and Robert so kindly delivered, I was glued to the manual until Rose rescued me shortly before dinner.

"Time to change, miss."

"Thank goodness!" I rose from my chair in relief.

Rose chattered on about the history of the library, briefly taking my mind off the manual, while we walked to my room. "Some of the pieces in the collection date back to the 1500s. The ladder came from a manor in England, occupied by the original owners of Winston Manor before they built this one. It's said to be quite rare, made of mahogany and almost 200 years old."

Oops, I guess I won't be using it as a ride anymore.

Monday, June 18, 2012

Dear Maude,

What was I thinking? I can't believe I wanted to go to college so badly that I sold my soul to this company! I spent my day reading through the Orientation Manual—a monster of a book that I know I'll be expected to quote verbatim while standing on my head in a bathtub filled with green gelatin. (I don't think that part is in there, but I'm sure they just left it out by accident.) Either way, I have to take art, etiquette, history, music, penmanship, and sports instruction, focusing on the period surrounding 1910, give or take ten years on either side. Really? Why...and why me? I suppose people such as Dr. Moore need well-trained research assistants, but I really doubt there was a waiting list of people who wanted to take his class, not when I was in college. He could hardly fill a small classroom.

You would probably look at it as a new adventure. To keep myself from going crazy, I guess I need to do the same thing. I'm just really disappointed. I didn't know what to expect from this job, but it sure wasn't this.

On top of that, I won't be studying with anyone else. I'm the only student. Maybe they'll at least give me a dog to keep me company. I'm glad I have you, though. Sorry! I didn't intend for that to sound as if I think of you as a dog. You're definitely a good friend, Maude. Thanks for being there for me...always.

Love,

Emily

# Chapter Ten

**I SPENT THE** next five and a half months of my life learning how to be a lady in 1910. All my training and instruction would culminate in a final exam used to determine my placement in the company.

During my training, my "Maude journal," as I referred to it, became my best friend. With no other students to talk to, I poured my feelings into its pages. I also used it to practice my handwriting, noting what I had learned in my lessons each day. It helped me to vent and also to study for tests and quizzes. I had no idea how useful my journal really was until one particular morning, just five days before the scheduled final exam, when Mr. Wilson approached me in the library.

"Miss Stanton?"

I looked up from the _Orientation Manual_. "Yes?"

He held out his right hand. "I need you to surrender the manual, please."

"Excuse me?"

"Give me the manual."

"Now?"

"Yes." He nodded.

"But I'm using it to study for the final next week." I tried to cover it with my hands, as if I could hide the behemoth.

"Well, things have changed. The exam was rescheduled for this evening." Not waiting for a response, Mr. Wilson promptly yanked the manual from beneath my grasp and snapped it closed. He also removed the other books and study guides my instructors had given me, and walked out of the room.

I felt as if all my bodily fluids had just invisibly exited my body. "I'm doomed." I could only stare at the empty desk in disbelief, until my thoughts traveled to my journal. _I hope it will be enough to study from._ I was glad that I had left it in my room, until its possible discovery sent a bolt of fear through me. I jumped up, hoping they weren't in my room looking for other things I could use to study. I hurried from the library in a panic, mumbling under my breath as I tried to avoid running or taking the stairs in an unladylike, two-at-a-time fashion, until I reached the hallway outside my room. There, my worst fears were realized.

The light from the open doorway cast shadows on the carpet that ran outside my bedroom.

_Crap!_ I tried to compose myself before entering.

Several men in black suits were combing my room, filling cardboard boxes with my notebooks, pens, ink—anything that appeared to be a studying tool.

"Hello?" I stood in the doorway, trying to remain calm.

If I had learned anything from the preceding few months, it was the need to remain a lady at all times, even if the situation didn't call for it. The men continued to rummage through my things, failing to acknowledge my greeting. As I walked farther into the room, I noticed that every drawer, cupboard, and shelf was empty, its contents either in a box or on the floor. In fact, only a narrow stretch of carpet remained free of my things and served as a pathway into the room. Although my training crossed my mind, in that situation, however, I threw all ladylike behavior out the window.

"What's the meaning of this?" I shouted.

The men stopped and looked from me to their apparent boss, who was hunched over in the corner, facing the wall.

The man stood up and turned to me.

My hands found my mouth as my legs dragged me farther into the room for a closer look. "Gerd?"

"Stop!" He cast an ice-cold stare at me.

I froze, almost forgetting to breathe.

"Leave!" He looked at the others, who promptly dropped my belongings on the floor and exited the room. Gerd then walked past me, without a word, and shut and locked the bedroom door. "Sit." He motioned to the bench at the foot of the bed

I followed the clear path leading to it and sat down, unable to speak.

He pulled a chair up in front of me, staring into my eyes.

I stared back, hoping to find the Gerd I'd once dated, but he wasn't there.

"Where are they?" he asked.

"Hey, it's nice to see you too." I glared at him and was met by icy blue eyes that turned colder and harder with each passing second. "Where are what?" I finally asked.

"The remaining books!" He nearly spat in my face.

"Well, Gerd, I don't know which books you already have, so I can't really help with the ones that remain."

His lips curled, revealing his teeth, like a hungry animal baring down on its prey. "The almanac, the Bible, and the dictionary," he said with a snarl.

I leaned closer to him. "Did you try the bathroom?"

He quickly stood, nearly removing my nose in the process, and proceeded to the restroom.

I sat back on the bench, crossing my legs and trying to appear calm as I heard bottles breaking on the tile floor. "In the commode," I said, gripping the bench for support.

The room grew silent.

"Find them?" I pretended to look at my fingernails as he returned from the bathroom with a stack of books. Finally, I met his eyes and said, "What can I say? I enjoy multi-tasking."

He threw the books into a box with a grunt.

"Anything else?" I offered him a fake, toothy smile.

"Yes!" He sneered down at me. "I hope you fail your exam."

"Nice. Thanks."

"Yeah, that would be nice."

"I know we didn't end on the best of terms, Gerd, but why do you hate me so much?"

"Because I had it all!" He looked around the room, throwing his arms in the air.

"What are you talking about?"

"The life, money, cars, women—they were all mine!" As he spoke, he pointed at various things throughout the room, then finally at me.

"Aren't they still?"

He stood glaring down at me with his hands on his hips. "Does it _look_ as if they are?"

"Regardless, what's that have to do with me?" I angrily shook my head.

"God, Emily are you _that_ blind? Without you, I have nothing!"

I couldn't believe he still held feelings for me. "I'm sorry Gerd, I never meant to hurt you."

He paced like a wild animal on the hunt. "Hurt me? Really? Do you think that's what this is all about?"

"Isn't that what you just said?"

"God!" He collapsed into the chair across from me.

I reached out to stroke his hair as he buried his head in his hands. "Where did you go? I don't even recognize you."

"I was never there, Emily. Nothing is...as it seems." He rubbed a hand over his face.

"What do you mean?" I asked the top of his head.

When he finally looked up at me, I could see that the life had been sucked right out of him. His gorgeous eyes looked empty and drained, just a watered-down version of their former glory. He attempted to give me that famous Gerd smile, but it had also lost its effect. I felt sorry for him. He suddenly leaned toward me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "You were _my_ final exam, and I failed." Then, not waiting for a reply, Gerd stood and walked to the door, unlocked it, and left without another word.

I sat on the bench, open-mouthed, unable to find the words that needed to close it.

The other men returned, took their boxes, and exited in silence.

Just as the last man left, Rose entered the room, carrying two gowns in her arms. She nearly dropped her load when she looked around. "What a mess, miss!"

I just smiled, unable to cope with Gerd, the mess, Rose, or the early exam. All I could think about was my journal, which I had grown to love as a best friend.

"So pale, miss." Rose hung the dresses in my now empty wardrobe. "I'll be right back." She closed the door behind her.

As soon as she left, I began digging through the ruins of my room in search of my journal. It was so precious to me that I often hid it in a false bottom I found in Maude's suitcase, or the "Maude suitcase," as I preferred to call it. "Where is that thing?"

I scanned the room, hoping it would shed the case like a secret burden. I scoured the floor until I saw the corner of the suitcase, sticking up between my winter coats and extra blankets that were usually stored neatly in the wardrobe. "A-ha!" I shouted as I pulled the suitcase free.

I made my way back to the bench, forced to take exaggerated, giant steps in an effort to clear the mounds on the floor. The suitcase had been pried open, but the journal and its hiding place were still intact. The only damage appeared to be the broken lock hanging from the front of the case. "Tom can fix this."

Just as I finished placing the suitcase on top of the wardrobe for safe keeping, Rose returned with three others, carrying brooms, mops, dusters, and vacuums. In less than an hour, they transformed the room and bathroom back to their normal state.

Afterward, Rose drew me a bubble bath and sang to me as she scrubbed my back.

I sat deep in thought, pondering the events of the morning. I tried to amuse myself by wondering if a poor breakfast choice had determined my situation. _If only I'd chosen pancakes instead of an omelet, my life might be different now._

If Rose had been speaking to me at all, I didn't notice. She quickly finished and left me to my thoughts.

"There's nothing like a little butter and a lot of syrup to put it all into perspective." I nodded knowingly to the steam-filled room before me. I exited the bathroom several minutes later, clean and focused on my final exam.

"I'm getting an A," I told myself as I walked toward my wardrobe to find a comfortable outfit.

"What about these, miss?" Rose said, admiring the dresses she'd laid out on the bed.

I just stared at the two gowns, nearly open-mouthed. They were similar to the ones I had studied in the _Orientation Manual_ , covered in lace, beads, and layers of silk chiffon.

"Green or blue?" she asked.

"Uh...green," I replied, "but why are they here?"

"They're for your exam, miss."

"My exam?" I cringed, realizing my instructors obviously hadn't received the memo that encouraged students to wear comfortable clothes when taking tests.

"Yes, miss. I'll get the corset."

"Oh, not the dreaded corset!" I wailed.

"I'm afraid so, miss."

The object of my nightmares, the corset, was something many of my instructors had insisted I wear on several occasions, to lend authenticity to my training. The exam, apparently, necessitated such torture again.

Rose and I spent the next hour squeezing and lacing me into a corset like a football on Sunday. As she cinched away my appetite and lung capacity I knew that I would never again think pancakes were better than omelets for breakfast. When the ordeal finally ended, I felt like an overdressed child on a snow day. I couldn't move or bend, so Rose had to finish dressing me.

The green gown fit easily over my corset, followed by stockings and shoes. She curled, brushed, and braided my hair into a delicate chignon, held together with pins and a jewel-covered comb. The ensemble was completed with a small amount of jewelry and a beaded draw-string purse for my "essentials," as my etiquette instructor used to say.

_What essentials?_ My cell phone was more vital than essential, but it was not allowed in the bag.

"It's...a look, I guess." I contemplated the purse's uselessness as I admired my outfit in the mirror.

Rose smiled at my reflection. "Mr. Wilson will meet you in the library, miss."

"Thank you, Rose. I just need a few minutes."

She nodded and quietly left the room.

Determined to cram a few precious moments of studying in before my exam, I quickly closed and locked the bedroom door. Reaching above my head wasn't as difficult in the corset as I feared, so I was able to retrieve the Maude suitcase without too much effort. I spent the next few minutes looking for passages in my journal that I hoped would help me on my exam. I soon realized that it was a waste of time.

_If I don't know it by now, I guess I never will._ I closed the journal and replaced it and the suitcase above the wardrobe.

After straightening out my dress, I walked to the library, trying to remember to hold my shoulders back and take the small steps I had practiced with my instructors. It wasn't that difficult, considering the stiff corset made it impossible to do anything else. I made my way down the hall in what seemed twice the amount of time it normally took, but I arrived in the library before Mr. Wilson.

_Good_. _I'm early._

Mr. Wilson entered the room shortly after me, dressed in a suit similar to the ones pictured in the _Orientation Manual_. He had trimmed his hair and combed it back, using a fair amount of hair grease to hold his curls in place.

_He fits this period really well_. I also noticed that his manner had changed to fit his costume. _He's in character._

"Miss Stanton." Mr. Wilson bowed before me, then rose to kiss my outstretched hand.

"Mr. Wilson." I was grateful that a pair of kid gloves stood between me and his greasy lips.

"Shall we?" He offered me his arm and escorted me down the hall to the main dining room.

As we drew closer, I saw the large, sliding dining room doors that usually remained closed, were now open, flanked by two black-suited attendants wearing white gloves. We entered the room and were greeted by the festive sound of an ensemble playing waltzes on a stage in the corner. The table was gone, and chairs now lined the edges of the room. The transformation was remarkable; it was as if I had just stepped into a 1910 ballroom.

A crowd of what looked like several hundred had already gathered, and more were arriving through a second set of doors at the opposite end of the room. All were dressed in period costumes and flowed into the room as if they were well-versed in the manners of the time.

Confused and terrified, I squeezed Mr. Wilson's arm as we slowly walked toward George, who was standing in the center of the room.

"You will be just fine, Miss Stanton," Mr. Wilson whispered, leaning toward me.

"Is _this_ my final?" I whispered back, almost afraid of the answer.

He patted my hand and smiled. "Yes. You are Lord Winston's niece, and this is your birthday party."

I felt the tightness of the corset dig into my ribs as I tried, unsuccessfully, to gasp in surprise. In fact, I had to fight a cramp in my side just to speak. "What's my name?"

"It is Emily Winston."

"And how old am I?" I asked, hearing the panic creeping into my voice.

"You just turned eighteen." His tone was soothing and unnerving at the same time.

_Yeah, I wish I was just eighteen and had decided to attend college part-time while I worked at Mom and Tom's shop. Anything would be better than this._ Then, I thought of what Maude would have said, had she been standing next to me, _"It is what it is, Toots."_ Maude was seldom wrong.

Unfortunately, we reached the center of the room far too quickly.

"Here she is." Mr. Wilson released me to George's care.

He offered me his arm in exchange. "And what a vision."

I smiled weakly at Mr. Wilson as I let George lead me toward the crowd.

The rest of the evening was spent being introduced to couples and single men, all dressed in period costumes, some with and others without accents from various regions and countries.

I smiled, curtseyed, and offered the appropriate salutation to each according to his or her title. As good as the food and beverages looked, I refrained from consuming anything out of fear of the constricting corset. Instead, I watched George eat and drink enough for both of us. That proved to be more of a blessing than a curse, though, as it distracted him from noticing my mispronunciation of several guests' names and the occasional curtsey, when I should have just shaken hands.

During the introductions, we were invited into several conversations that involved the politics and the world events of the time, topics so-called ladies were expected to avoid.

Whenever a guest asked, "What do you think, Miss Winston?" my reply was always the same: "Well, I'm sure you will find many more well-informed guests here who can answer that," or even, "I'll leave that to the scholars."

The guest, usually an older gentleman, would always chuckle and offer a kind word or two, such as, "Utterly useless discourse for such a lovely creature as you," or "Forgive my...blah, blah, blah."

I was completely miserable but __ somehow smiled anyway, successfully fighting the urge to elaborate on the changing role of women in society or the plight of children in an industrialized nation.

Periodically, a guest would ask me questions about music, art, or sports; topics ladies of the period were expected to be able to discuss at length. On such occasions, I babbled on about everything from art nouveau to vaudeville, as well as tennis, archery, and equestrian pursuits. I was glad to see my responses left most participants in the conversation with a satisfied nod or chuckle.

"Good work," George said, inserting an encouraging comment periodically as we walked to the next group of guests.

By the time I mastered the introductions, the ensemble was playing a waltz I had danced to numerous times in music class.

"My lady..." George offered me his hand.

I smiled and let him escort me onto the dance floor. All eyes were on us as we led the dance.

_One-two-three, one-two-three..._ I counted to myself, smiling up into his face while trying to avoid stepping on his toes. Other couples joined us, until soon the floor was crowded with dancers who seemed to know the waltz well.

George and I smiled at the other couples who were dancing around us, and I continued to count to myself. After several more familiar songs, he decided to take a break and escorted me back to where Mr. Wilson was standing.

On our way across the floor, we were stopped by a handsome man in his twenties who George introduced as Mr. Fowler.

I offered my hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Fowler."

He drew my hand toward him, staring unblinkingly into my eyes. "The pleasure is mine, Miss Winston." He proceeded to kiss my gloved hand, still holding it as he lowered it from his face, while keeping his eyes glued on mine. "Lord Winston, may I have the honor of the next dance with your lovely niece?"

"Of course!" George stepped back to let Mr. Fowler lead me to the dance floor.

The waltzes were now unfamiliar, and I needed to follow Mr. Fowler's lead in order to avoid stepping on his toes. _Thank you for pushing me to practice, Ms. Wood_. I was grateful for my music teacher's persistence that now allowed me to waltz without embarrassment or injury to either of us.

When the song ended, Mr. Fowler escorted me back to George. "Thank you," he said, bowing with a flourish.

I curtseyed in reply.

"Well done," George whispered.

"Thank you," I said, proud of my performance.

Mr. Fowler's request seemed to open the floodgates for more young men to ask for George's permission to dance with me. With only a few familiar songs mixed among the rest, I quickly learned to recognize the types of waltzes Ms. Wood had insisted I learn.

_Thanks-Ms.-Wood, thanks-Ms.-Wood._ I inserted her name in my count as I was waltzed across the floor by dozens of young, extremely handsome men. I was happy that the effort of dancing also caused my blushing face to appear flushed instead, or else I would not have been able to survive the evening in the company of such good looking bachelors.

By midnight, the room was clearing, and the couples and eligible men were making their way through the other doors. I was hungry, dehydrated, and exhausted, but I continued to smile, curtsey, and offer my hand to be kissed until the last of the guests departed.

"Ready to turn in, miss?" Rose asked from the doorway.

_Thank God!_ I smiled and nodded at my savior.

Once the corset was removed, I took my first full breath in more than eight hours. I held it in my lungs as long as I could, then exhaled slowly, savoring every second. "That thing should be burned!" I said out loud.

"You'll get used to it, miss." I looked at the grinning Rose, forgetting that she also looked the part in her own corset.

"I'm sorry, Rose. You've been suffocating too."

"No matter, miss."

* * *

I spent most of the next day in the drawing room, opening dozens of so-called birthday presents and writing thank-you notes in the script style of print I had learned during my orientation. I wasn't exactly fluid in my technique, so the process was long and tedious. In fact, the last envelope wasn't sealed until late in the afternoon.

"This way!" Mr. Wilson's voice came from behind the seat I had occupied for hours.

I jumped and almost spilled the ink before I could replace the lid. _But_ _I haven't even had a chance to stretch_. I stood from my seat and reached my arms out as far as I could, then shook out my hands before following Mr. Wilson and his clipboard.

He led me back to the library, where George was already waiting for me, sitting in one of the wingback chairs.

There was no expression on his face. "Please be seated."

_Great, I must have blown it_. I took the seat next to him and tried to swallow, but my dry throat still hadn't recovered from the night before.

Mr. Wilson stood in the doorway as my instructors filtered into the room. Each handed him a sheet of paper, then looked for a spot to lean against along one of the walls. After the last teacher entered, Mr. Wilson closed the door and walked over to a pile of papers atop one of the tables. No one spoke for several minutes as he examined them, then added the pages he had just received to the existing stack. He neatly arranged its contents before looking at me. "Miss Stanton, congratulations on completing your orientation period."

As Mr. Wilson continued to speak, I scanned the faces of my instructors. I went from one face to the next and found them all intent on the carpet. _No, I really blew it!_

"Wouldn't you agree, Ms. Stanton?"

"Excuse me?"

"Aren't our instructors the finest in their fields?"

"Yes, absolutely." I smiled but received nothing in return from anyone.

Mr. Wilson rambled on in his usual way, while I searched my brain for the times I hadn't done so well in class. With the exception of a few minor incidents of spilling the ink or falling off my horse, I couldn't think of anything that would have disqualified me for a position with the company.

"Therefore, it's with great pride that we welcome you to the Evergreen Research team!" Mr. Wilson smiled and clapped with enthusiasm.

The entire room then came to life and erupted with cheers and more clapping, quickly bringing me back to reality.

Words escaped me as I rose, then just stood there in shock, staring at the unexpected ovation from my educators.

The applause lasted for several minutes, causing the dreaded blush to creep up my neck. The gigantic hug from George didn't help. Then, one by one, my instructors, bearing handshakes, hugs, and gifts congratulated me and slowly left the room.

"Well done, Miss Stanton. Well done!" Mr. Wilson beamed, shaking my hand with such vigor that I thought my shoulder would dislocate. Then he finally let me go and exited the room.

"Well, I bet you're ready to go home for a while," George said.

"Yes, that would be wonderful."

He patted me on the back. "We'll leave this evening."

* * *

As with my arrival, my departure was also at night, so it was difficult to see The Campus both from the ground and the air. It wouldn't have made much of a difference, though, because my head was spinning with a new set of questions as we drove to the airstrip.

"Who were those people at the party, George?" I asked. There weren't quite a thousand, but I was certain I had been introduced to a few hundred, all of them staying in character every minute.

He answered simply, "Employees."

I sat in silence for several minutes, still trying to digest the activities of the prior twenty-four hours. "Will I be able to find out the results of my exam?" I finally asked.

George shifted his gaze from the window to look at me. "We'll debrief you on your return."

I nodded. "What position will I have?"

"Well, that's up to the owner."

"I thought that was you."

"No. I own the property. President Conroy is the owner of the company," George said.

"Oh," was all I could think to say.

My arm was sore from writing and I really couldn't think straight, so once we boarded the plane, my questions ended with a yawn and a nap that took me within minutes of landing.

_I'm almost home._ I groggily stared out the window as we approached the runway.

Friday, December 14, 2012

Dear Maude,

They sprang my final exam on me early. It was a faux birthday party in my honor—1910-style. I was terrified, but it went well—good enough, anyway, to get a position with the company.

Before that, Gerd reared his ugly head as the leader of a group of thugs who cleaned my room of anything I could have used to study for my final. He's not the guy I dated—or maybe he is, and I just didn't see it. Either way, he told me I was his final exam and that he failed, whatever that means. He sure tried to shift the blame my direction for that one. It was horrible! At this point, the only thing I feel for him is pity.

The good news is that they allowed me to come home for Christmas. I arrived last week and am finally in my own bed. Mom and Tom moved into the big house, so I officially have my old room back. The house seems so empty without Nana Rosie and Papa Bob. I miss them more than I thought possible.

I am returning to The Campus in January, and I'll find out then what my assignment will be. I hope it doesn't involve wearing a corset! What a wicked punishment simply for being a woman. Regardless, I'm just glad the orientation is over.

Bye, Maude, and thanks for being my friend,

Love,

Emily

My vacation was spent being spoiled by Mom and Tom and filling orders for glassware that had to arrive by Christmas and others that were needed by New Year's. It was a busy time for all of us, but that allowed me to give my thoughts about The Campus a rest for a while.

The night before I was expected to fly back to New York, Mom sat me down by the fireplace, with an oversized, marshmallow-filled mug of hot chocolate. She blew into her own mug without looking up. "You don't _have_ to go back, you know."

"What do you mean?" I asked, absently trying to suck one of the softened marshmallows into my mouth.

"Well, Tom and I have been talking. If we sell his place, we can afford to pay off your scholarship and still have money left for our business."

"Mom, is that why you're living in Nana and Papa's house?"

"Partly." She continued to blow into her mug.

"Thanks Mom, but I can't let you do that."

She looked up at me. "You wouldn't be _letting_ me do anything if it's my idea, honey."

"Still, that's a lot of money." I shook my head. "Also, I made the choice to take the scholarship. I need to take the responsibility that goes along with it."

I saw tears forming in Mom's eyes as she said, "I just have this horrible feeling that I may never see you again."

"You definitely won't see much of anything if you start crying on me!" I placed my mug on a nearby table and gave her a hug. "I'm a big girl, Mom."

"I know, but you don't even know what your job will be...or where," she said, her muffled voice coming from my shoulder.

I hugged her even harder. "Well, when I find out, I will let you know."

" _If_ you can." Mom had successfully kept the tears from flowing, but her nose was a different story. She pulled away and reached into her pocket for a handkerchief.

"What do you mean?"

She blew her nose. "Well, it might be classified or something. After all, we weren't allowed to contact you when you were there for orientation."

"Mom, you're getting all paranoid on me."

"No, I'm not!"

"Whatever happens, I will figure out a way to let you know that I'm okay, classified or not."

"I know, baby. I just worry."

"Since when have you been a worrier?"

"Since I lost half my family one week last spring," she said with a sniff. Then Mom, the rock of my world, burst into tears and squeezed me so tight that I thought I would lose my dinner.

I'd never seen her that upset, so, not knowing what else to do, I just let her cry.

She finally recovered enough to speak. "Please consider not going back."

"Mom—"

"Don't answer now. Think about it, and let me know in the morning." She then kissed me on the cheek and went to bed.

If I slept at all that night, it didn't last long. When I sat down at the breakfast table, Mom and Tom looked as if they'd found about as much sleep as I did.

My Maude suitcase was sitting in the middle of the table. I looked at the latch, then at Tom, who gave me a weak smile.

"Good as new," he said proudly.

I attempted my own grin. "Thanks. I knew you could fix it."

Mom reached out and took my hand.

I looked up at her and met the tears in her eyes with a matching set of my own—with that one look, she already knew my answer. Mom always knew me better than I knew myself. The tears rolled down her face, into her coffee cup below.

Tom kissed me on the cheek and left the room. He'd never been very good at goodbyes.

# Chapter Eleven

**ALTHOUGH MY TRAINING** had acquainted me with the great expanse of The Campus, I still felt overwhelmed to, once again, be greeted by the property in the darkness. With the exception of the corporate plane ride and the dark landing at the air strip, however, my return bore no resemblance to my first arrival. I stood outside the plane in the cold, searching the night for the limo. Instead, I was met by the gardener's cart, with its toothless driver behind the wheel.

I dug through my purse for my cell phone, suddenly regretting my decision to turn down Mom and Tom's offer to pay off my tuition. "Dang, no reception here either." I turned my phone on and off in a fruitless effort to somehow change reality.

Meanwhile, the gardener and his cart pulled up next to me. "Eve-nin', mish!" His whistling voice seemed to blend with the wind that was whipping my hair in circles behind me.

"Evening, uh..." My teeth chattered uncontrollably. ...w _hatever your name is._

"All aboard!" He smiled and pointed at the passenger seat, which was riddled with dirt and dried leaves.

I tried not to stare into the void his missing teeth created in his mouth, directing my attention to the dirty seat instead. _Great._

Possibly noticing my apprehension, he said, "Oh! Here, lemme get that fer ya." He produced a greasy rag from his glovebox and proceeded to spread the dirt around the seat. "There ya go!" He smiled again, admiring his handiwork.

"Thank you." I quickly brushed the dirt and debris onto the ground outside the cart and climbed in, wiping my hand on my jacket.

"Shorry there'sh no room for your thingsh." He turned to look at the shovels, buckets, and other implements that crowded the back of his cart.

"Oh, that's no problem." My teeth continued to chatter as I hugged my Maude suitcase, as much for warmth as necessity.

The cart seemed to find every bump and pothole as we wound our way along the road.

"Beautiful eve-nin', ain't it? Jusht look at all of thosh shtarsh."

I tried to look up but nearly lost my balance on the seat, catching myself just seconds before being bumped out of the cart. "Lovely." I now clutched my suitcase in one hand and the window-less frame of the cart with the other. _Great, Emily. Way to go_. _You could be sipping cocoa with Mom right now._

The road appeared longer and curvier than I remembered and seemed to take almost as long as the flight from Portland. By the time we reached the manor, I felt as if I had just been brutalized and thrown into the freezer.

"Here we are!" Toothless Man smiled and parked the cart just outside the basement door that led to the kitchen.

"Thanks." I could barely find free movement in any of my joints, including my jaw.

"No problem!" He waved before proceeding off into the night.

I stood outside the door, shivering and hoping my assignment involved nothing to do with cooking, unless, of course, everyone preferred their food burnt. I reached for the knob, but felt it jerk away as the door swung open from the inside.

"Ah! Ya poor tin'!" the cook said in a thick Irish accent, then pulled me into the warmth of the kitchen.

A pot of hot tea and a bowl of chicken soup later, I was able to find the free-movement I had lost in my limbs and mouth. "Thank you so much, Cookie." I smiled, hoping the herbs from the soup weren't caught between my teeth.

"Dohs brutes!" she said. "Oi ought ter gie dem a piece av me mind, perishin' yer wee dear on a noight such as dis!"

"You're sweet, Cookie."

"Well, dey called for snow, don' yer nu?"

"I believe it." I nodded, rubbing my hands between my legs.

Just then, the swinging door that led to the hallway banged against the wall, causing everyone in the room to jump or scream or both.

"Oh, miss! Oh, miss!" A distraught Rose ran into the room toward me. "I'm so sorry, miss. I meant to meet you earlier, but with the big meeting going on, I lost track of time. Please forgive me. Oh, please do!"

"Goodness, lassy. Yer gave us al' a fright!" Cookie snapped. "Calm down an' breathe, wud yer?"

"I'm sorry. I just...Oh!"

"Rose, please stop. It's fine," I said, smiling over at her.

"Thank you, miss." She sat down firmly on the bench beside me, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Dare, Dare..." Cookie consoled Rose by depositing a cup of tea on the table in front of her.

"Rose," I said, "it's okay. Really."

"Oh, miss, the house has been a sea of tempers and discord ever since you left," Rose said, crying into her apron.

"Nigh, Lassy, don' trouble Miss Stanton wi' yisser woes," Cookie cautioned.

"It's all right. Really. What's been going on?" I asked.

"Well..." Rose stopped, catching an icy stare from Cookie. "Oh, miss, it's just..." She tried again, still looking at the cook.

Cookie interjected, "Tis jist dat she weren't able ter spent Christmas wi' 'er family. She's a wee bit oyt av sorts, dat's al'."

The cook banged her rolling pin on the cutting board with a finality that caused Rose to forget her tears and regain her composure.

"I'm sorry, miss." Rose began to use a napkin to dry her eyes.

I handed her another for her nose. "Rose, there's no need to apologize. I understand." After I waited for her to make good use of the two napkins and several others, I looked around the kitchen. "Now, will someone please tell me about these meetings that kept Rose from her holiday?"

"Well miss," Cookie said, "Lord Winston 'as been entertain' guests every noight since yer lef. Dat's why yer 'ad ter ride wi' Ol' Fred from de airport. De limo 'as been ferryin' guests al' afternoon."

Cookie stopped me before I could formulate my next question. "Nigh, shoo witcha both before we al' git a gran' scoldin'."

I smiled, wanting more than anything to give her marshmallow-shaped form a big hug. "Thank you, Cookie."

"T'be sure, miss. Nigh, run along."

I doubted if anyone ever argued with Cookie, and I certainly wasn't going to be the first, so I grabbed my suitcase and followed Rose up the servants' staircase, to the main floor. Once we were safely out of ear-shot from the kitchen, I resumed my questions. "Am I supposed to stay in my room?"

Rose, sniffing and still trying to recover her voice from her earlier melt-down, stuttered, "N-no, miss. Mr. Wilson has asked that you join the group in the dining room as soon as you are ready."

"Is this for dinner?"

She checked her watch. "I'm not sure, miss. I suppose it's about that time, but they didn't really tell me." Her voice started to crack, so I left her alone to find her composure as we approached my room.

I had almost forgotten about the gifts I had received for my fake birthday but was reminded of them in a hurry once I opened the bedroom door. "Oh my!" I stared at the multitude of boxes neatly stacked in rows along the far wall.

"Yes, they sure jump out and greet you, don't they, miss?" Rose said, nearly sounding like herself again.

"They sure do." I tried to keep my mouth from remaining open by pretending to ignore the stacks as I walked farther into the bedroom. Once I reached the bed, I placed my suitcase down next to a breathtakingly beautiful gown.

"It's for this evening, miss."

The gown flowed across the blue bedspread like sunshine glistening on a clear stream. I felt as if I were admiring something out of a museum, a turn of the twentieth-century museum, to be exact. A sudden thought made my heart sink. _Great. I hope I don't have to redo my final exam._ Regardless, its beauty drew me toward it, and I couldn't resist running my fingers along the bodice. "I love the yellow beads, and the embroidered floral pattern is so subtle, with just the right amount of lace."

"Yes, it is stunning." Rose smiled down at the dress. "Should I draw you a bath, miss?" she asked, her confidence finally returning to her voice.

"Yes. Thank you, Rose."

Unfortunately, after my bath, the fatal flaw of the dress inevitably made its presence known.

"Why does it need a corset?" I complained in an unusually loud voice.

Rose's face instantly fell.

I reached to touch her sleeve. "I'm sorry, Rose. I know it's not your fault. I just hate those things."

"I know, miss." She stared sadly at the dress.

I looked as well. _The dress is beautiful_. _I guess when you become a specialist in a certain time period, you sometimes have to dress the part...again and again._ I exhaled loudly and accepted my burden. "Well, let's get started."

The dress fit perfectly, as did the matching shoes. When the dressing ordeal was over, I stood with Rose and admired myself in the mirror.

"Someone sure knows how to shop for me," I said, suddenly missing Sophia.

"Yes, miss." Rose smiled at my reflection.

With the addition of a drawstring bag, Rose escorted me to the dining room doors.

"Miss Stanton," the waiting Mr. Wilson said, extending his arm in my direction.

"Mr. Wilson." I once again tried not to gag as he insisted upon kissing my gloved hand.

The attendants opened the doors to the dining room, which was already brimming with dozens of boisterous conversations around the table. When I entered the room, however, silence immediately followed, and the occupants stood, with all eyes on me.

I held on to Mr. Wilson's arm, as if it were a life preserver in a sea of fear. The hushed stares continued while he walked me to a chair near one end of the dining room table.

The man at the head of the table greeted me. "Good evening, Miss Stanton."

Sill terrified, I could only nod and say, "G-Good evening."

"I'm Evan Conroy, President of Evergreen Research Corporation."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Conroy." I offered my hand.

"I assure you, the pleasure is entirely mine." He smiled, maintaining eye-contact as he kissed my glove.

Although he was an attractive man, I was too scared to blush.

Mr. Conroy then pulled out a chair for me to occupy.

"Thank you."

I smiled at the other gentlemen standing around the table, and they all smiled in return as my seat was pushed in for me. I couldn't help but notice that George was not among them.

The men, all dressed in black suits from the early 1900s, resumed their seats, but continued to look in my direction, filling the room with their stares instead of conversation.

They sure take this costume party seriously. I bet they're a real hoot at Halloween.

"Miss Stanton," Mr. Conroy said, "I trust you experienced an enjoyable holiday."

"Yes. Thank you, sir."

"Wonderful. Now, I'm sure you are wondering why you have been called here tonight. Therefore, without further delay, allow me to explain. These fine gentlemen seated around the table are the Evergreen Research Corporation board members. We have summoned you here this evening to officially announce the position you will hold with the company."

I gritted my teeth to keep them from chattering.

"It is a high-level position in a new research project we have recently embarked upon. It will require extensive travel and will eliminate any possibility of home visits for a considerable amount of time. Because of the highly sensitive nature of our research, we require you to commit to the project prior to your knowledge of it or what your involvement will entail."

My head began to swim, but I remained silent.

"I will ask for your answer this evening. Please consider it carefully, for once your decision is made, you cannot change it."

With that, Mr. Conroy rang a bell, and all the men stood. Mr. Wilson came from behind me and pulled my chair back, forcing me to stand as well.

I felt like a bug on a windshield, with no idea what had just hit me. I tried to find my manners, smiling at the group and thanking Mr. Conroy before I was escorted from the room.

Rose was in the hallway, waiting to take me back to my bedroom, but there was a look of deep concern on her face. "Are you okay, miss?"

My throat was suddenly dry. "I really don't know."

Back in my room, I sat at the dressing table, staring at my reflection for what seemed hours. Rose was scurrying around behind me, packing my things into large steamer trunks that had been placed around the room. Normally, I might have cared enough to ask her why she was removing my things without first knowing my decision, but none of that seemed to matter at that moment. Instead, I just stared at myself in the mirror, hoping that the girl looking back at me possessed all the answers. Unfortunately, by the look on her face, I could tell she wasn't going to be much help. The battle I waged with myself in the mirror seemed to take on a life of its own in the Land of the Bipolar. I was torn between my fear of the unknown and the need to honor my obligations. _I know I don't have to do this_ , _but I love Mom and Tom too much to put the financial burden back on them. You're a big girl, Em. It's time to act like one._

"Rose?" I finally asked.

The sound of my voice made her jump.

"Please get Mr. Wilson for me."

She quickly ran from the room, bumping into one of the trunks as she left.

_Poor thing_. S _he seems more nervous than I am._

Mr. Wilson must have been waiting in the hall, because Rose returned almost immediately with him at her side. "Yes, Miss Stanton?"

I stood to meet him in the doorway. "I've made my decision."

"And?" he asked.

I swallowed before saying, "I am going to commit to the project."

Monday, January 14, 2013

Dear Maude,

I don't know if I will be able to take my journal with me where I am going, so this might be the last time I write to you for a while. I arrived back at The Campus and was offered a position on a new project with Evergreen Research Corporation. Apparently, it's confidential, so they can't tell me what it is until I commit to it first. I know that you always stressed stepping back and checking the landscape before jumping in, but I don't really have a choice here. I feel that accepting Mom and Tom's offer to pay off my tuition will just mean letting everyone down, including myself. I can't do that, Maude. I have to grow up sometime, and I guess this is just as good a time as any. Worst-case scenario, it will only last four years. How bad could it be?

I think someone's coming, so I need to hide the journal and keep packing. Hopefully, I will write again sooner rather than later.

Love,

Emily

# Chapter Twelve

**BY NINE O'CLOCK** that evening, most of my belongings, including my birthday gifts, were either stored in boxes or packed into steamer trunks and removed from my room in anticipation of my "immediate relocation," as Mr. Wilson referred to it.

A separate box was set aside for things deemed inappropriate for my new position. That included my cell phone, which I assumed would be replaced with a newer, company-issued model. Still, it would have been nice to have my old phone when I was able to visit home again, so I attached a quickly scribbled note: "Mom, please put this on my dresser. I love you, Emily."

She wasn't a fan of technology and how it "laid waste to our culture," so she conveniently lost track of any form of handheld electronic device, unless she was made accountable for its existence. Had I not written the note, my phone might have disappeared into parts unknown, never to be seen again.

Earlier, I made sure to slide the Maude suitcase against the wall in an effort to spare it a similar fate at the hands of my new employers. Unfortunately, without the cover of the steamer trunks, Mr. Wilson easily discovered it during one of his so-called progress checks.

He loomed over the antiquated luggage, shaking his head. "That relic must be sent home to your family."

"But I want to take it with me." I couldn't bear to part with my last piece of home or my journal, so I let my pleading eyes work their magic, and added, "Please?"

"Hmm." Rather than making eye contact, however, he focused his attention on the suitcase that remained on the floor. Then he reached down and grabbed it by the handle. "I'll need to have this approved."

"Okay." I tried to remain calm, hoping my journal wouldn't be discovered in the process.

As he turned to go, I touched him on the sleeve. "Mr. Wilson, I have just one more question before you leave."

"Yes?"

"Where am I going exactly?"

"That, Miss Stanton, will be addressed later this evening." He then turned on his heels and exited the room, carrying my suitcase.

I anxiously awaited Mr. Wilson's return, pacing the floor, still in my uncomfortably corseted outfit.

For most of the evening, the bedroom had been a frenzy of wheeled carts and footmen, all jockeying for position as they emptied the room of my things.

I eventually sat on the edge of the bed, trying to get out of their way, while avoiding crushing my organs in an effort to find a comfortable sitting position in my corset. Sadly, there really was none to be had.

Rose seemed to be in her own world, ordering everyone around as she created some form of order in her packing. Even the occasional smile or wink from Robert didn't deter her from her task.

_She's a machine!_ It was difficult not to admire her efficiency.

After the last trunk was removed, Rose surveyed the room, opening and closing drawers to ensure that they were all empty.

"Good job, Rose," I said with a smile.

She used her apron to wipe her forehead. "Oh, thank you, miss."

"Are you coming with me?"

"I don't know, miss. They haven't mentioned it."

"Well, I do hope to see you again." I gave her a long-overdue hug. "Thank you for everything."

"No, miss, thank _you_ ," she said, her voice cracking. "I'll just go fetch Mr. Wilson."

Several minutes later, Mr. Wilson returned, alone, holding Maude's sticker-clad case. "This really is a fine piece,' he said, handing it to me. "It's in surprisingly great condition for its age, almost museum quality."

"Really?" I turned the case over in my hands. "How old is it?"

"It was manufactured in France in the late 1800s." He paused. "It's very rare and easily met the approval of the project coordinators."

I couldn't imagine what they had to approve about an old suitcase, but I guessed it had something to do with its quality. I simply accepted his response without further comment; at least until my examination of the suitcase found it lacking something vital. "They removed the stenciling," I said, noting the absence of Maude's name in horror. I turned the case over in my hands. "And some of the stickers."

He stared at the case. "They needed to. Otherwise, it would not have been allowed."

_What else wasn't allowed?_ I thought of the Maude journal and panicked. So I set the suitcase on the bed and opened it, out of Mr. Wilson's view, pretending to examine the condition of the interior while feeling for the false bottom and the journal it held. "Yes, the fabric seems to be intact," I said as my fingers made contact with the corner of the journal. Then I closed the case and again examined the exterior and the missing stenciling. _It wasn't my name, but still! Could it have possibly created that much confusion?_

Before I could voice my thoughts regarding the defacement of my family heirloom, Mr. Wilson consulted a pocket watch he had retrieved from the breast pocket of his vest and announced, "We must leave now to avoid being late."

Feeling defeated, I wanted to cry, but chose to look at the bright side. _At least I get to take it with me._ "They did a good job, anyway," I said, mostly for Mr. Wilson's benefit.

"Yes, they're professionals." He nodded absently.

"Well, thank you," I forced myself to say.

"Of course."

In an effort to compose myself, I decided to change the subject. "One more thing, Mr. Wilson, if I may."

"Yes?"

"Will I be debriefed on my final exam?" I remembered George's comment before my trip home for Christmas.

"Sorry, but I don't know anything about that. I suspect if you don't, you can assume they were all extremely pleased with your performance. They have offered you a very prestigious position, after all.

_Yeah, so everyone tells me_.

He gestured toward the open door. "Now...after you."

Still holding the suitcase, I stepped into the hallway and followed him down the stairs and to the elevator door, where he pressed the down button.

"This is where I bid you _adieu_."

"Oh. Well, thank you, Mr. Wilson, for, uh...everything." I smiled, offering him my bare hand and wishing I hadn't packed my gloves away. _Please shake! Please shake!_

My unspoken pleading was useless as he took my hand and placed a sloppy kiss upon the knuckles.

_Eew!_ I struggled to keep my face from giving my thoughts away.

Fortunately, the elevator door opened just in time to capture his attention and stop the kiss.

_Phew!_ I refreshed my smile in genuine relief.

I was greeted by one of the movers, who exited the elevator and held the door open for me as I entered. He reentered, closed the door, and pressed the unmarked bottom button, which required him to turn a key before it would light up. The elevator found our floor in seconds and opened to reveal a marble-covered lobby that housed a short hallway, which dead-ended into a set of double doors.

"Wait here." He gestured to the space outside the elevator and kept the door open during my exit.

After only taking a few steps, I heard the elevator door close behind me. I stood nervously in the lobby, trying to keep my teeth from chattering by softly singing to myself. I had finished the second tune and was halfway through the third when one of the large doors opened, producing Mr. Conroy.

"Hello, Miss Stanton. I'm sorry to keep you waiting." He walked toward me with his right hand outstretched.

"Hello, Mr. Conroy." I offered him my bare hand in return.

He left it untouched, and a look of horror overtook his face. "Where are your gloves?"

"Packed, I'm afraid." I smiled, hoping to avoid being demoted before I even started.

"Well, that simply won't do!"

_At least I can type...and my phone skills aren't too bad either._ I now hoped for a desk job.

Without another word, he escorted me down the hallway and into a room on the right that was not visible from the lobby. I spent the next hour being poked and prodded in ways similar to my orientation, albeit by a different set of doctors. It was just as enjoyable as the first time around, only quicker.

Once that ordeal was over, Mr. Conroy met me outside the double-doors with a fresh pair of white kid gloves, which he handed to me in silence.

I placed the Maude suitcase on the floor and put the gloves on. _Hopefully, I'll at least have access to indoor plumbing and something other than bread and water to eat._

He opened the double-doors and motioned for me to enter.

Inside, I was met by a group of people in lab coats, all of them carrying clipboards. They stared at me, expressionless, as we walked past what appeared to be a glass-encased control room.

_I feel like a poor, unfortunate rat, waiting to become just another statistic!_ I wished that someone, anyone would smile.

Our journey ended in a heavily guarded glass enclosure with a large, vault-like door looming in front of us. Mr. Conroy punched a code into a keypad to the right of the door and stepped forward to a retina scanner. He leaned closer to the device, and after several seconds, the great door made a loud clicking sound. Then, he turned the giant wheel on the front of the door and, with the assistance of an armed guard who had been standing on the left side of the opening, pulled the enormous thing open.

_Dang!_ I stared in amazement. _It must be five feet thick, if not six._

We passed through the doorway into the cavernous entrance beyond, and I heard the door close behind us as we walked down a chilly hallway to a conference room that looked very similar to the dining room in Winston Manor. Inside were seated three of the gentlemen who had attended the meeting earlier.

"Miss Stanton, these are our benefactors. Without their generous support, none of this would be possible." He gestured at the men with both hands upturned, as if they deserved some form of worship.

The men rose and walked toward me.

No further introductions were made as I smiled and offered each of them my hand, followed by, "Pleased to meet you," and a curtsey just in case, before being offered a seat at the table.

"I'm sure you can appreciate the fact that our benefactors prefer to remain anonymous."

"Of course." I smiled, pretending I knew what he was talking about. _I think I'd appreciate knowing what is going on even more._

"As you know," Mr. Conroy continued, "Evergreen Research Corporation is a leader in sociological research. What you might not know is that many of our methods are, shall we say, unconventional."

The four men laughed.

Boy, do I feel stupid!

"You have been chosen to participate in one of our most unconventional projects to date, the largest undertaking in the history of our company." He paused. "And you will play a key role in the project."

If my throat wasn't devoid of any form of moisture, I would have swallowed—hard.

"We call it _Project Genesis,_ " he said, smiling with pride.

I must have appeared as clueless as I felt, for Mr. Conroy suddenly stopped his speech to ask, "Do you have any questions?"

_Any?_ _Yeah...only about a million!_ I took a deep breath and exhaled before finally saying, __ "Yes, sir, I do."

Mr. Conroy nodded. "Proceed."

"What does this project entail?"

"It is an in-depth, hands-on study of what we consider one of the most pivotal time periods in our country's history, the decade beginning in the Year 1910."

"Hands-on?"

"Yes." He hesitated. "Let's just say that you will...live and breathe that decade."

"How?"

He paused again, looking to the other three who each nodded their heads. "Our methods involve total immersion."

"But how do you simulate that?" My question was followed by renewed laughter of the group.

"Simulate?" Mr. Conroy tried to compose himself. "No, my dear. There is no simulation. We operate with a far simpler, yet very effective approach." He smiled. "We call it...time travel."

_Did I hear that right?_ _God, did I just sign on with a company full of whack-jobs?_

The laughter died down, and all eyes were on me when I stopped panicking inside enough to ask, "Has that really been done?"

"Many times, and these gentlemen are living proof. All three are from the past."

I stared from one face to the next in disbelief. I felt like vomiting or making a run for it or both, but then I remembered the big vault door. _I'm trapped._ "Why me?" I asked my question aloud to the universe.

Instead, I received a reply from Mr. Conroy: "Because we have been grooming you for this position for more than four years now, and you consistently surpassed all others in every category."

"Especially one," the dark-haired gentlemen from across the table said.

"Which one?" I almost whispered.

Mr. Conroy took his time, choosing his words diplomatically. "You are the only one who, shall we say, has her morals intact."

_Who'd have thought that saving myself for marriage would have landed me a job?_ I felt the blush creep up my neck and wished someone would either crank the A/C or fan me. _That explains those lovely doctor visits._

A few moments of quiet passed, allowing my blushing to stop, as the men around the table talked among themselves.

"What will my job involve?"

"You will live in the original Winston Manor, as the niece of the owner. The feedback you provide from your study of the period will help us to further understand the people and events that shaped history."

I finally found enough saliva to swallow. "Will it hurt?"

The laughter began again.

_I'm glad you all find me so amusing!_ I was having a difficult time hiding my anger and my comments.

Mr. Conroy wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes. "No, there is no pain involved in the process. Now, I will send you next door so you can freshen up before your journey." He scooted his chair back and stood, followed by the other men.

I stood as well but was met by a pair of unstable legs, so I needed to brace myself on Mr. Conroy's arm as he led me to a restroom. Hovering over the commode, I attempted to vomit, until my stomach realized it was empty. Instead, I relocated to a bench near the sink, where I sat and hugged my Maude suitcase. I began to cry, remembering Mr. Conroy's words, "...once your decision is made, you cannot change it." It didn't help that Mr. Wilson had shoved a mountain of paperwork in front of me earlier, threatening all forms of punishment if I tried to back out or disclose anything to anyone.

I attempted to cheer myself. _Maybe I can go as the mute niece of the owner._

I stood at the mirror, practicing my best Maude voice to my puffy reflection: "What a pickle you've gotten yourself into!"

Unable to bend without injury to a vital organ, I gave up trying to splash water on my face and settled for the rough wetness of a paper towel as a substitute.

When I finally exited the restroom, Mr. Conroy and the three men from the meeting were standing just outside the door.

"Miss Stanton, are you ready?"

"Yes." I firmly grasped my Maude suitcase like a security blanket.

He pointed in the direction of another heavily guarded vault door. "Good. Once you go through those doors, these gentlemen will escort you to your destination."

"Thank you..." _I guess_. My voice wanted to crack or run away, screaming in fear. Either way, it wasn't of much use.

"You're quite welcome...and good luck." He pressed buttons on the keypad and went through the same retina scan ritual as he had on the other vault entrance.

Once the door was open, we were met by another darker, cave-like entrance that housed what looked like an old rollercoaster car, complete with four rows of leather seats.

"Did you borrow this from an amusement park?" I walked to the front of the car to see if any identifying words were painted on the front, but it was solid black with no writing. I looked up and was met by the cold eyes of my three unamused escorts. "Guess not."

The car was attached to a track that led straight into the darkness of the tunnel. I shivered and walked to the last row, then stowed my suitcase on the floor before strapping myself into the red leather seat with the attached belt.

A man in a white lab coat checked all our seatbelts, pulled a long lap bar down in front of every seat, and handed each of us a set of goggles, similar to what a skier would wear. "Put these on," he said. I did as I was told.

Once we were all belted in and goggled, he bolted a cover over the top of the car, one that had been suspended above us in the darkness. When he was safely behind the vault door, a bell sounded, and the car lurched forward. For some reason, the memory of the crazy limo ride to The Garden came to mind; as a precaution, I closed my eyes.

As soon as the car began to move, it accelerated at such a high rate of speed that I thought I would disintegrate. About halfway through the ride, I started to feel dizzy, and I had to open my eyes to try to stop the spinning. The walls of the tunnel seemed to ooze a sort of iridescent green liquid that changed from purple to yellow and back to green as we moved forward. The air became heavy with an odor I did not recognize—a combination of leaded exhaust and fried food that seemed to permeate my being. I squeezed my eyes closed again, fighting the urge to scream by gritting my teeth behind sealed lips and gripping the bar for dear life.

The ride felt as if it took an eternity, but it probably lasted only minutes.

Nothing helped the dizziness until we finally started to decelerate. As the car slowed, I was able to take longer, deeper breaths and realized I had probably been holding my breath off and on throughout the trip. Once we came to a stop, I opened my eyes and looked ahead at the tunnel.

We sat in the car for a few minutes while another white-coated assistant removed the cover, collected our goggles, and unlatched our lap bars.

I unfastened my seatbelt and tried to step out of the car but couldn't get my balance. "Darn shoes!" I said, but my attempt at a joke sounded more pathetic than funny.

One of the gentlemen grabbed me around the waist and held me up, while another took my suitcase.

We proceeded in silence to a vault door exactly like the others. A similar key code and retina scan gained us entrance.

When the door opened, I was assaulted by a waft of the most foul-smelling stench I'd ever experienced. I was grateful for my empty stomach as we walked into a hallway with a meeting room on one side, followed by another vault door. Everything was a mirror-image of the vaults, halls, and control room at the other end of the tunnel, right down to the elevator doors.

_This must be a joke. Everything looks the same, even the weird people in lab coats_. _That tunnel must have taken us in a circle._

I rode the elevator to the dining room level of the house and stepped out into the hallway. Two of the gentlemen bowed and went down the corridor that led to the main entrance of the house.

The third handed me my suitcase and bowed dramatically. "Welcome to Winston Manor," he said. Then he walked in the same direction as the other two.

_Of course it's Winston Manor. I've been duped!_ I waited for a guy to jump out from behind a hidden camera and say, "Surprise!" but that didn't happen.

Instead, I took my suitcase and mumbled my way past rows of closed doors and curtained windows. When I finally reached my room on the second floor and stepped inside, I found all my things unpacked and arranged throughout it.

"Okay!" I looked around smiling. "You can come out now."

I waited, but no one made an appearance.

"Really, you can come out!"

In search of a hidden camera or its crew, I opened the wardrobe and scooted the clothes aside, only to find smooth wooden walls. Then I looked under the bed.

"You fooled me. Ha-ha. Very funny."

Still nothing.

"You sure had me going there for a minute."

I reached up to draw back the big curtains and take a look at the stars outside, but as soon as I started to open them, I knew something was terribly wrong.

"Where's that light coming from?"

I pulled more of the curtain aside.

It took a few seconds for me to realize what I was looking at; instead of viewing the grounds in the moonlight, I was staring at them in full sun.

"What the heck?" I stepped onto the balcony. "Did I fall asleep? And where are my trees?" I noticed that the enormous sugar maples I had admired almost every day for the prior six months were hardly more than ten feet tall.

"This isn't happening!" I shouted as I ran back into the room.

I quickly changed into the riding gear I had noticed in the wardrobe during my earlier search, then hurried down the stairs and out of the house toward the stables.

_I don't care if ladies don't run_!

I entered the stables quicker than I should have around the poor horses.

Startled, the animals all protested as I looked for a friendly face. An old mare stared at me amidst the chaos, so I chose her. I saddled her up and led her out, then mounted her and rode along the road, in the direction of the airstrip.

"Where is it?" I looked for the guardhouse that usually kept me from getting too close to the hangars.

It was gone, and so was the giant razor-wire-covered fence that ran along the road past the guardhouse.

As I wound around the corner that normally opened up into the clearing that held the airstrip, my worst fears were realized.

"It's gone too!" I stared at the trees that filled the space instead.

I continued to ride, out to the entrance of the estate and the main road that led to the nearby village. I had never been allowed to ride that far before but assumed I would find it filled with cars traveling to the village. Instead, it only held a horse-drawn wagon with the words "Baum Family Dairy" on the side, as well as a chauffeur-driven motor car, similar to ones I had learned about in the _Orientation Manual_.

I nearly fell off my horse when the car honked, and the milk wagon driver tipped his hat as they passed.

"That settles it," I said, mumbling. "No one in my time would use a horn to offer a friendly hello."

I stared for a moment longer, then I turned my horse back toward the house.

# Chapter Thirteen

**NO AMOUNT OF** prior planning or training could have prepared me for my life in the past. In fact, I was glad I hadn't been informed of my travel plans before the trip; otherwise, I would have been extremely disappointed.

It was January, but I hardly noticed. I spent my first few weeks at the manor, acclimating my intestinal flora to the turn-of-the-twentieth-century diet and extreme lack of proper sanitation. Fortunately, toilet paper had already been invented, or that would have been another set of problems to suffer through.

During my second week of getting to know the path between my bed and the bathroom, my main benefactor, most likely impatient with my illness, chose to introduce himself to me.

"Hello, Miss Stanton!" He smiled down at me as I lay on the bathroom floor, moaning. "I'm Lord Alistair Winston."

"Pleased to meet you." I cringed, fighting a stomach cramp that kept me in the fetal position.

"Sorry to see that you're not feeling well, but rest assured that it will pass. You all seem to get it, you know."

_No, I don't know...and it gives me no comfort in knowing!_ I kept my thoughts to myself, however, and offered a simple, "Thank you."

"You're welcome, dear." He quickly turned and left me to my nausea.

Aside from my digestive issues, which Lord Winston conveniently explained to outsiders as being a souvenir of a recent "trip across the pond," I couldn't get beyond the strange smell that invisibly blanketed the air. It was almost sticky and contributed to several bouts of nausea whenever my nurse decided to open my French doors to the balcony. I eventually learned to tolerate it enough, so that a full month and ten fewer pounds later, I was finally feeling up to donning my corset and exploring my surroundings.

I started down the hallway outside my room and almost made it to the staircase that led to the first floor before I heard someone clearing his throat behind me. When I turned around, I was met by the serious face of a man walking toward me.

"Good morning! You must be Miss Stanton. I'm Niles Hodges. I'll be assisting you in your transition."

My manners escaped me for several seconds as I stared in disbelief at my new Mr. Wilson. He was gorgeous, just shy of six feet tall, with dark brown hair and brown eyes that were surrounded by the thickest lashes I had ever seen; they seemed unnatural, almost glued on, yet they somehow fit his face. I was transfixed by his every blink as he drew closer. _Women pay for that_ ... _I would pay for that!_

Fortunately, my illness left me too weak to summon a blush, but he was standing right in front of me before I finally came out of my trance.

I offered him my hand to avoid any further embarrassment. "Yes, nice to meet you Mr. Hodges." _Please kiss, please, please!_ Instead, I only received a small wiggle of a handshake without eye contact. _Figures._ I pulled my hand back in disappointment.

Hodges was closer to my age than Mr. Wilson and relied on his brain instead of a clipboard to keep track of things. He dressed the part of a school master, complete with a vest and accompanying pocket watch, attached with a chain, which he constantly withdrew from a small pocket and consulted throughout our meetings. "Please follow me," he said. "We shall take breakfast in the drawing room."

_I'll follow you anywhere._ My thoughts kept me staring at the soft curls that ran along the back of his neck.

We spent the next several hours discussing the preliminary rules for my new assignment.

"I'm your cousin from Boston," he said, sipping coffee between sentences.

_Hopefully a really distant cousin!_ I smiled into my tea cup.

"You may not venture into the village or anywhere off the property without an escort, which will be either me or Lord Winston."

"Is that a cultural norm?" I asked, pretending to forget my course on etiquette.

"The Americans didn't exactly enforce this more European tradition, but we tend to be a bit...overprotective. We certainly don't want anything to happen to you." He cocked his head to the side slightly and offered a small smile.

I instantly turned to butter. _Can I keep him, Mommy? Can I?_ Then, I just smiled, feeling that long-overdue blush looming.

"Finally—and this is extremely important—do not, under any circumstances, speak with anyone about the program except for me or Lord Winston." He paused and stared, unblinking, with his eyebrows almost meeting at the bridge of his nose. "No one!"

"Okay, but aren't there others here who are also participating?"

"Yes, however, their assignments differ from yours. And even a seemingly innocent conversation with one of them might divulge information that could jeopardize the entire project."

I nodded, staring into his intense, chocolate-brown eyes. _I'd love to be a marshmallow floating in that cup of cocoa!_

I struggled to focus on his rules as he continued, "Many, many years of research have paved the way for us to be sitting here today. I can't stress enough the importance of your role, and the secrecy involved in its safe-keeping." He took another sip of coffee. "In fact, when others try to engage in conversation regarding the future or the project, I want you to let me know immediately."

I just smiled and blew into my tea cup, avoiding any form of eye contact. _I'm no snitch, so good luck enforcing that one_. I remembered the times in my past when telling on someone only caused problems for me. Fortunately, he didn't press the issue, and I didn't offer any resistance when the meeting finally ended.

Afterward, he introduced me to the staff and walked me around the perimeter of the house, pointing out the features that did not exist in the property of the future.

"What's that smell?" I asked, as a sudden wave of nausea hit me.

"The air?" he asked.

I hesitated. "Well...yes." _What else could it be?_ I hoped he hadn't just passed gas.

"It's an accumulation of lead and other particles—a result of the Industrial Revolution. I'm afraid it becomes worse as you get closer to the city."

"Do you ever get used to it?" I asked.

"No, but you learn to accept it. You'll have to train your mind to think of other things."

"That'll be a challenge."

"Yes, but I have faith in you." He openly smiled in my direction for the first time, revealing a row of straight, white teeth that seemed to welcome visitors to the lips that surrounded them.

The blush came before I could stop it, and I knew I had to turn away and increase my pace, in order to avoid further embarrassment.

It took a few seconds for him to finally catch up with me. "What's the rush?"

"Oh, just a sudden burst of energy," I said with a smile.

He shook his head and frowned, clearly not amused. "I think we should call it a day."

Great. Now he thinks I'm a psycho.

"And, by the way, you need to speak to everyone, including me, as if you are from this time—because, in fact, you now are."

In that instant, the reality of my situation came crashing in with a loud _thud_. _The future is my past._ I could feel the tears well up in my eyes along with the knowledge that my mom didn't exist and wouldn't for decades.

"Understand?" he asked, his tone coarse, almost cruel.

_So much for that love affair!_ I offered a simple, "Yes," without turning toward him.

We walked in silence, past the set of French doors outside the conservatory.

Suddenly, he stopped and softly tapped me on the arm. "My apologies if that came across so insensitively. I'm sorry, too, if I spoiled your first day out of your room."

I offered a weak smile, which encouraged him to continue.

"I do know what you're going through. This is all relatively new for me too. I spent my first month trying to adjust as well. I do hope you can forgive me." He reached for my hand, which I willingly gave to him. He drew it up to his mouth and planted the softest, sexiest kiss I had ever received.

My lips envied my hand as I walked, almost in a dreamlike state, back to my room.

From that point forward, Hodges would stop talking entirely before he would even raise his voice with me. In time, he became a true gentleman, and I was working diligently at being a proper lady. Unlike Mr. Wilson's company, Hodges's was much more enjoyable. He seemed to know the answers to all of my questions and wasn't afraid to share them with me.

"How is it possible for Lord Winston to be a called a lord?" I asked Hodges one afternoon.

"He's an actual lord in England, estate and all."

"Where's his accent?"

"He shed it."

"Why?"

"His late wife despised it. She was an American."

"Therefore, he just...discarded it?"

"You must know that she held the purse strings in the relationship. If he hadn't married her or someone else with a wealthy father, he would have lost his estate. The practice of American heiresses marrying English lords to prop up their estates and, in return, gain a title in the process, was very popular during this time."

"I remember learning about that," I said, recalling Dr. Moore's lessons.

"Lord Winston is living proof," he added.

"And Winston Manor?"

"It belonged to her family. It used to be called Shefton House, but he renamed it after her death."

I smiled. "No ego there."

He laughed and said, "None that I can see."

We often walked throughout the estate arm in arm, as Hodges filled my brain with an endless stream of details about the property, its inhabitants, and, most importantly, life in 1910. Although my attraction for him grew and seemed to be mutual, my hand was the only recipient of any lip-related affection. _Number six saw to that!_ I silently complained about the rule that prevented dating.

In addition to constant instruction from Hodges, my mornings were spent in elocution classes, which picked up where my etiquette classes left off. The speech seemed awkward, clunky, and unnatural but was excused by my instructors as a necessary evil. Hodges and I tried to make light of it, though, by frequently mocking it. The dialogue followed a similar pattern:

"Do people really speak in this manner?" I asked, batting my eyelashes.

"Quite frankly, Miss Stanton, an answer to your question would require my interest in the subject, which I am most afraid I currently lack." He smirked, then punctuated it with yet another spine-tingling kiss to my hand.

"Such strong words, Mr. Hodges," I said with a smile.

"As the situation dictates, milady."

The conversation continued in a similar, overly civil way as he escorted me to my next riding lesson.

After several weeks of such "preoccupations," as Lord Winston described my lessons, he returned from a trip abroad with a houseful of guests and plans for my future. "It is high time we presented you to society!" he announced.

The newly arrived crowd cheered as Lord Winston grabbed my hand and spun me in circles on the entryway tile. He not only physically resembled his great-grandson, but also embraced life in a large way. Unlike George, however, he didn't have anything to prove and traveled with an entourage of clingers-on who constantly reminded him of his standing. Their uninhibited adoration was more nauseating than the ever-present stench in the air.

Finally, the exaggerated joy of those in front of me became unbearable. "But Uncle?" I asked.

He stopped to smile at me. "Yes, my dear?"

"Aren't coming-out balls out of season in February?" I asked, trying to recall my lessons.

His booming laugh filled the room as usual. "Oh, my dear girl! Coming out? From where? Were you in hiding?"

He pretended to look underneath the nearest table, much to the amusement of his guests. "Well, I'd quite say you're already here, aren't you? Besides, you're a Winston. We Winston's set the trends, not follow them. We'll set a date for March and simply start the Summer Season off early... and with a bang!"

I finally remembered from my lessons that during that time of year, known as Lent, people usually spent time at home, rather than attending balls. "But, before Easter, Uncle? Will anyone attend?"

"They will if they know what's good for them." He returned his attention to his guests, who giggled and clapped as if Lord Winston had just invented the light bulb. "Oh, and one more thing." He again turned toward me with an almost-evil smile spread across his face. "None of this restaurant business. No, we'll have the thing at home."

I just stared, speechless, as he turned back to his fan club. _Might as well just chuck my training out the window!_ The trend of having coming-out balls at a restaurant rather than at one's house was all the rage, but arguing the point was useless. Lord Winston had spoken—that was that—and there were no more discussions on the subject. Thus, preparations started immediately for "The Ball That Would Start All Balls," as Lord Winston began to refer to it. Unfortunately for me, it also meant an acceleration in my lesson schedule that left me exhausted at the end of each day.

The weeks leading up to the ball were also filled with dress measurements, menu choices, waltz selections, and other details that entirely overwhelmed me. "I can't wait for this to be over!" I complained to Hodges.

"Excuse me, miss? Did I hear you say that you are anticipating the upcoming festivities with great excitement?"

"I hate you!" I elbowed him in the ribs as we walked to my next appointment.

By the time the day of the ball arrived, my nerves were shot. I hadn't slept in several nights, and I looked like it.

"You are as lovely as ever," Hodges said, standing behind me and smiling as I stared at the dark circles and bags my reflection offered from my dressing table mirror.

I returned his compliment through a false smile. "And you, sir, are an immense, fresh bovine excrement, exuding steam on a dewy spring morn'."

"Tsk, tsk, my lovely buttercup. Aren't we in a maggot-riddled mood this fine morning?" He laughed at his own cleverness.

I suddenly was not in the mood to continue the mocking banter we often resorted to in such situations. "Why don't you vigorously rotate clockwise about your axis?"

He took me by the shoulders from behind, reached down, and kissed me gently on the cheek. "Perhaps a ride might offer a new perspective?" He locked eyes with mine in the mirror.

"I think it might." I put my hands on his. "One should never underestimate the power of fresh, smelly air."

He kissed me again and left the room.

"He made it past my hand—hope we don't get sent home." I smiled sarcastically at my reflection.

I donned my riding gear and walked toward the stables. Everyone I passed quickly looked away after I greeted them. _Man, I must look worse than before. This would be a good day for sunglasses. I wish someone would hurry up and make them popular._ I tried to avoid making further contact until I reached the stables.

While the stronger, faster, prettier horses were constantly missing from their stalls, I never had to worry about that with the old mare I rode my first day. She was always available, and I grew to love her.

Fortunately, I remembered to bring her an apple that morning. "Who names their horse Estelle, anyway?"

She nuzzled me as I teased her with the apple, finally letting her eat it.

"A pretty name for a pretty horse," I said, as she chomped away.

After I saddled her up, I decided to ride along the west property line of the estate. I seldom went that direction because the boundary lacked landmarks, but on that particular morning, I didn't care. I rode for hours, up and down hills and along streams. By the time we returned to the stables, Estelle was slick with sweat, but I finally felt refreshed.

"Good girl," I said, repeating it often as I brushed Estelle's coat to a nice gloss.

"There you are, miss!" said one of the housemaids, out of breath as she rushed into the stalls.

I put up my hands to keep the girl from getting me trampled. "Slow down, Jane! You'll scare the horses."

"My apologies, miss, but the house is in an uproar looking for you. The guests will be arriving soon!"

"But the ball isn't set to start until six."

"Yes, and it is four o'clock, miss."

_Great._ I gave the brush to the stable boy and returned to the house with Jane, hoping to sneak up the back stairs and avoid any sort of confrontation with Lord Winston. Those hopes were dashed, however, when we approached the house, where he was standing outside the back entrance, holding his pocket watch.

"I'm sorry. I suppose I lost track of time."

"You're lucky I found you first. Hodges is about ready to string you up!"

"Oh dear!" I handed my muddy boots to Jane as I mounted the stairs that led to my bedroom and my doom.

"A ride, Miss Stanton...not an expedition!" Hodges greeted me with clenched teeth as I entered the room.

"I'm sorry. I lost track of time."

"No excuses. Where did you go? Everyone was out looking for you!"

I paused. "I went...west."

"Are you out of your mind? Did you also go to the village?"

"Of course not! I know better than that," I said, angry and hurt by his accusation.

"Why did you go to the west?"

"Because I have never been there!"

"I've never jumped off a cliff, but you won't find me attempting such a feat!" His arms flew in the air as he began pacing the floor.

I stared in disbelief. "What's your problem?"

Hodges shot me a look that could have cut through steel. "Watch your mouth!"

"Fine, I am sorry to have offended your frail sensibilities, milord."

His face changed from pink to crimson as he fought for words. Finally, they found their way out from behind clenched teeth. "You make us both look bad, Miss Stanton."

"Oh, what a shame. I was hoping you would say that I gave _you_ a scare or its equal!" I felt my throat tighten. "I'm sorry that my actions reflect badly upon you. I shan't let them go unchecked in the future." I cleared my throat, hoping to keep the tears at bay for a few minutes longer. "Please vacate my boudoir, so I might ready myself for this evening."

"Em...er, Miss Stanton, uh, Winston...I, well...I really didn't...This whole thing is so..."

"Thank you, but I need to get ready, sir." I pushed him toward the door and closed it behind him, then leaned against it as the tears began to freely flow down my cheeks.

"I'm sorry," his muffled voice echoed softly from the other side of the door.

I sobbed quietly as I heard his footsteps slowly fade down the hallway. I dried my eyes and washed my face just in time for a crew of housemaids to descend upon me, ready to transform me into the belle of the ball.

# Chapter Fourteen

**MY INTRODUCTION TO** society was nothing short of a rebirth and equally as painful. I was scrubbed and dressed by a group of housemaids who were short on conversation and long on torture. I was manhandled throughout the entire process. From my bath to the tightening of my corset, they seemed to take pleasure in scrubbing, poking, and squeezing the life right out of me. In the end, I looked better than I had on any previous occasion but felt as if I had been starched straight and strapped to someone's collar. I could hardly walk, and normal breathing was definitely out of the question, so my trip down the hall resembled a slow, tortured march to my death. I had regained most of the weight I lost in my first month at the manor, and I fought to take a breath against the tightness of a corset that would have fit me better during my illness. _Now I know how it feels to have asthma!_

Hodges met me near the top of the stairs, walking toward me in a black tuxedo that was tailored to a flattering fit. He folded my gloved hand into the crook of his arm. "I'm sorry for my earlier outburst."

I held his arm in an attempt to take the pressure off my already aching feet. "I'm sorry I wasn't born a male."

He patted my hand as we walked down the stairs, toward the sound of voices and the ensemble who were tuning their instruments in the dining room.

My appearance sparked some interest amongst the early arrivals, causing them to stop talking and turn to smile in my direction. I smiled and curtseyed in greeting as they returned to their conversation.

I was unsure how to handle the situation. "Should I say something to them?" I whispered to Hodges as he led me away from the group.

"No. They're just Lord Winston's houseguests."

I squinted to get a better look. "I didn't recognize them."

"Well, that's because they're not attached to Lord Winston's coattails."

"That explains it." I smiled, trying not to engage in any other form of elaboration that would cause me to laugh or even breathe any more than necessary.

When the real guests began to arrive, I stood in a reception line near the door, next to Lord Winston, who warmly greeted all of them with the appropriate handshake or kiss. As the line grew, I quickly realized that Lord Winston's prediction was correct. Everyone on my guest list showed, in all of their finery, regardless of the odd timing of the event. Although hundreds of guests filtered through the entrance that evening, Lord Winston knew them all by name and treated each one as if he or she was the only person in the room.

_He's good!_ I tried to absorb his technique as the guests were then introduced to me.

"And this is my niece, Emily!" He offered a genuinely proud-looking smile that seemed to infect the guests with the urge to regard me with instant affection.

"Oh, aren't you lovely," or, "So very glad to finally meet you," was said time and time again.

I soon realized that I didn't need to worry about mimicking Lord Winston's methods, because in every instance, he answered for me. "Yes, she is...yes, she is!" or, "Yes, we've kept her well-hidden, haven't we?" He always followed those remarks with a half-hug and a squeeze of my shoulder. Fortunately, his booming laugh echoed less and less as the crowd grew and absorbed the noise.

In fact, the most I said in the reception line was, "Thank you." It left me feeling and most likely looking like a useless ragdoll with a permanent smile painted on.

Hodges stood to my right and, after each introduction, whispered the person's name again and their societal standing. By the time the last guest arrived, my brain was overloaded with information, and my cheeks felt as if they had permanent cramps in them from all of the smiling.

Finally, Hodges rescued me and escorted me across the room to a free spot near the punch bowl, where he began to review the identities of the guests. In a relatively short amount of time, however, my corset-induced oxygen-starved brain was having trouble making connections.

And Hodges' usual patience was reaching its limit for the second time that day. "No, no, no! Judge Stall is the key magistrate, who handles all land use issues in the county. Simon Stowe breeds thoroughbreds that consistently top the winners' board at Saratoga and Belmont!"

"They need to change their names. It would make more sense if Stall bred horses," I said, trying to insert a little humor into the conversation, while also forgetting to speak as a lady of the time might.

The joke fell flat. Hodges grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray and downed it in one gulp, then placed the empty glass on the same tray before the server could walk away.

"Can't you just write this all down for me later? Better yet, can you make me a little book with pictures?" I asked.

"You really must take this seriously."

"I am, but I can't think right now."

"Well, you had better start, because you will be issued your first assignment soon. You must be thoroughly prepared, and it is my job to see that you are."

"Excuse me?" I asked, shocked. "I thought _this_ was my first assignment."

"No, this is simply your grace period."

"But—"

"You must pay attention and learn who these people are. I'm not certain how much time you have remaining, but I do know that it's limited."

"What if I can't do it?"

"Remember those maids who dressed you this evening?"

"Yes. They were so pleasant. How could I forget?"

"Well, they're wash-outs."

"They're what?"

"The ones who didn't make it." He lowered his voice, looking around before continuing, "You purposely have not been assigned your own maid while you are still proving your worth. If you don't do well, you might become one, instead. Four years is a long time when you have to dress a grown adult."

I could feel the blood drain from my face and settle, with a sickening _thump_ , in the pit of my stomach. "They're scholarship students too?"

"Yes," he said. "Now, shall we make another attempt?"

"Absolutely." I gave my answer almost before he finished the question.

By the end of the evening, grateful for a second chance, I had created associations for each of the guests and their area of influence. "Simon Stowe is the Joe whose horses win the show. Judge Stall is who you call if you want to build a mall..." I chanted inside my head as I scanned the room, reciting poems for all the occupants. The next time Hodges quizzed me, I was able to get every answer correct.

"Well done!" He smiled into my eyes.

Once the last guest departed, Hodges escorted me to my room. "You are remarkable," he said, lowering his head toward mine in an obvious attempt to kiss me.

As he drew closer to my lips, I took a step back and cleared my throat. "I don't think that is such a good idea, Mr. Hodges."

"Uh, uh..." he stuttered, clearly surprised by my reaction.

"After all, I wouldn't want to wash-out."

"Right. Yes, of course." He looked at the ground.

"Good night, _cousin_." I opened my door and stepped inside the room.

"Good night," he mumbled, then turned away.

I closed the door and stared at it, shaking my head. _He says that I make both of us look bad, he scares me with the whole washing out thing, and then he wants a kiss? Good luck with that, Mr. Hodges!_

Unfortunately, I soon found that _my_ luck wasn't much better. I fought for almost a half-hour to remove my button-clad dress and the underlying corset that didn't allow free movement, before I decided to walk the halls of the manor in search of a housemaid who could provide me with the assistance I needed.

The entire staff appeared to be preoccupied with cleaning up after the ball and didn't seem to notice me walking squarely into ground zero of their private world, where few outsiders dared to tread—the staff kitchen.

Without the Irish cook from the future to welcome me in, I stood outside the doorway for several minutes, not wanting to interrupt their work. It was Sybil, the head housemaid, who first noticed my presence, then she loudly cleared her throat, alerting the other staff members.

_Great._ I felt their eyes burning through me as if I were a field mouse that had just wandered into a snake pit. "Uh, yes, thank you, Sybil. I require the assistance of one of the maids for a few minutes, please."

The groan was audible as each of the women in the crowd dropped her eyes to the floor or the piece of imaginary fuzz she conveniently noticed on her apron.

I stood for several seconds, until Sybil finally said, "Sorry, miss, but as you can see, we're all very busy cleaning up after your ball."

_My ball? My. Ball. Isn't that your job?_ I stared into her nearly black eyes. I could feel the volcano bubbling inside my exhausted body as I summoned the most sarcastic, condescending tone I could muster. "Oh? Well, I'm so very sorry, Sybil. I certainly do not mean to interrupt your ever-so-important tasks of the evening. Please forgive my intrusion." Before turning to leave, I noticed a shiny pair of scissors sticking out of a sewing basket resting on the table. I stepped forward and reached for them. "I'll just borrow these, if you don't mind." Then, without waiting for a reply, I left the room, scissors in hand, and calmly walked down the hall.

As I took my first step onto the stairway that led out of the basement, I heard snickers and outright laughter from the kitchen. I turned to see Sybil, staring down the hall at me, cackling at my escape.

"What a witch!" I muttered, then ascended the stairs two at a time, without regard to manners.

Once I reached my room, I locked the door and proceeded to cut the dress, then the corset off of my body with the sewing scissors. It seemed a shame to destroy the gown, which I hadn't even had the opportunity to admire when it was practically implanted on me earlier. Its off-white silk, satin, lace, and beadwork were as breathtaking in their beauty as the corset was in its function. Unable to reach the many buttons that ran along the back of the bodice, however, I had no alternative but to use the scissors for their intended purpose.

"Freedom!" I cried in relief as I watched the last of my outfit fall to the floor.

Then I turned and surveyed the damage in the mirror. The corset had left deep marks on my skin, tender to the touch, with raw patches from all of the walking, sitting, and dancing I endured throughout the evening. "I haven't received these before," I said, gently running my fingertips along the wounds. "They didn't have to cinch this thing so tight!" I dabbed the sore spots I could reach with cream I found in the bathroom and tried to pull my nightgown gently over myself, making as little contact as possible.

"Forget the rules," I said out loud, furious. "I need Maude!" I pulled the dressing table chair over to the wardrobe so I could reach the Maude suitcase I'd stored above it. I removed the journal and spent the rest of the night at the writing desk, filling its pages.

Friday, March 11, 1910

Dear Maude,

I'm so angry right now that I don't know where to begin. I can't even think about it, though, because I have something more important to do. I hope you don't mind, but I need to use these pages to write down the names of the people I met tonight and the rhymes I created to help me remember them.

A. Mr. Charles Abbott—tall and goofy-looking, with dark brown hair and big ears. He spits when he talks. He coordinates hunting expeditions to Africa and other places. Abbott has a habit of killing more than rabbit...

I dedicated a page or two to each letter of the alphabet and left spaces for future entries. I made it to my last guest just as the sun was coming up.

With a yawn, I replaced the lid on my ink and cleaned my pen, then closed my desk. I put my journal back into the suitcase and returned it to the place it occupied above the wardrobe, along with the sewing scissors I decided to keep, just in case.

After that, I crawled into bed and tried to sleep. I soon found no comfort in any position, so I filled a warm bath with Epsom salts and soaked my wounds.

"Sybil, the cackling witch whose dribble will cause her to become the kibble upon whom rats will nibble, inspiring them to scribble, 'She was a nasty, naughty Sybil.'" I recited the poem in my best rap voice to the walls of my bathroom as I drained and refilled the tub several times.

By six o'clock, I decided to do something I despised—snitch on Sybil.

Without a corset and in the least conspicuous dress I could find, I walked, carrying the rolled-up rags that were once my ball gown and corset to the drawing room, where I knew Lord Winston spent most of his mornings.

Before I reached the door, however, a petite, young maid carrying a bucket of cleaning supplies nearly collided with me in the hallway. "Oh, dear, miss. I am truly sorry. So clumsy," she said.

In the commotion, I dropped my rags.

The maid quickly scooped them off the floor but stopped short of handing them to me; instead, she just stared at the bundle, looking confused. After a few seconds, she shook her head and slowly met my gaze. "That weren't right what Miss Sybil done, miss," she whispered.

"No, it wasn't."

"I would have helped you. Any one of us would have...if Sybil weren't there."

"Thank you. What's your name?"

"I'm Margaret, miss, but everyone calls me Midge."

"Excuse me?"

"I know, miss. Most people aren't named for a bug, but Papa says that I'm like a gnat looking for fruit. I'm not very good at sitting still, you see."

I shook my head, glad that her father hadn't compared her to a fly on a cow pie, or worse, larvae on rotten meat. "Well, Midge, have you ever been a housemaid before?"

"Oh, no, miss. Sybil would have my hide. She owns it, after all," she said, staring at her feet.

"And who owns Sybil's hide?"

"Um. Well, I suppose that would be Mrs. Smithson, the head housekeeper, miss."

"Would you mind fetching her for me, please?"

"Right away, miss." She finally handed me my rags and ran to the servants' staircase, with her bucket rattling in her hand.

A few minutes later, a stout, kind-faced woman appeared from the darkness of the hallway, walking toward me and wringing her hands.

"Good morning," I greeted.

"Good morning, miss."

"I understand you are in charge of the housemaids?"

"Yes, miss—the housemaids, cook, and other kitchen staff."

"Well, last evening I was told by someone named Sybil that a housemaid could not be spared to assist me with my gown...and this is the result." I held up what was left of my dress.

"Oh!" She gasped, inhaling while simultaneously clasping her hand around her opened mouth.

"I would hate to have to inform Lord Winston of my situation. However, at this point, I really see no alternative. Without a housemaid at my disposal, it appears events like this may simply continue to occur."

"Oh, no, miss. We can't have that!" Mrs. Smithson said, almost breathless. After a few seconds, she stepped closer and lowered her voice. "I don't think we should trouble Lord Winston with something we can easily resolve. Wouldn't you agree, miss?"

"And how do you suggest we handle this?"

"Well, I could consult with Sybil and see who she thinks might be the most qualified for the task, someone she feels is worthy of promotion."

"Who is the least qualified?"

"I'm afraid you just met her, miss. Midge is not very...skilled."

"Would Sybil notice her absence?"

"Oh, no, miss. I am certain she doesn't even know her name."

"In that case, I want Midge to be my housemaid."

"Oh, miss, no! Sybil will be furious if—"

" _Sybil_ will be furious? Really? I'm confused, Mrs. Smithson. I thought _you_ were in charge?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then why aren't you?"

"Miss?"

"You seem like a smart, confident, capable housekeeper, who has rightly earned the prestigious position of head housekeeper of Winston Manor."

"Thank you, miss."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Smithson, but I'm curious why anyone inferior to you, such as Sybil, would act as if the position is hers instead."

Mrs. Smithson looked at me as though I had just told her that the moon wasn't filled with cheese after all. "You're correct, miss." Her face turned a solid shade of pink. "I'll deal with this matter and promptly send Midge to your room." With that, she turned on her heels and walked, with determination, back down the hallway. Midway, she stopped and turned back to me. "She might require a bit of patience, miss, as she learns her job."

"I understand, Mrs. Smithson. Thank you."

"Very good, miss," she said with a smile, then turned and resumed her march down the hall.

Suddenly, the drawing room door swung open, and Lord Winston emerged, smiling. "Bravo!" he said, stepping into the hallway.

"I...How..." I stammered.

"Keyholes." He nodded toward the drawing room door.

"Oh." I suddenly felt the urge to vomit.

He reached for the shredded dress I was still holding and began to laugh. "How?"

"Sewing scissors."

"Ah." He nodded. "Well, once you're fully dressed, please join me for breakfast. You've certainly earned it...and your own maid."

"Thank you, sir." I suddenly remembered my need for a corset and slowly folded my arms across my chest.

Lord Winston just laughed as he walked back into the drawing room and shut the door.

_God!_ I shook my head, feeling the usual heat radiate toward my face. My arms remained folded as I quickly returned to my room.

Within minutes, a soft knock at the door revealed a beaming Midge standing on the other side. "You saved me!" she said, then gave me a hug.

I cringed in pain, which caused her to immediately step back awkwardly.

"I'm so sorry, miss. I—"

"No, you're fine, Midge. Please come in, and I'll explain."

Midge cried as she rubbed salve on my wounds and loosely laced a fresh corset on me.

By midmorning, the entire house and all its occupants had heard of my adventures. By noon, Sybil and her belongings were being loaded into the estate carriage that would deposit her at the train station. I may have made many friends that day, but Sybil wasn't one of them.

# Chapter Fifteen

**THE BALL WAS** just the beginning of my venture into society—real 1910 society. The success of Lord Winston's event caused others to rethink the timing of their social functions as well, just as he predicted. Invitations came pouring in from all corners of the state. The hosts and guests were no longer employees of the company; rather, they were people I had read about in history books and the _Orientation Manual_. Many were unrecognizable in real life, however, since their photographs and portraits were often retouched using the technology of the day. _Nice glamour shot!_ I tried not to laugh after noticing a hairy mole or worse playing center stage on some supposed beauty queen.

My lack of disfiguring skin blemishes, as well as my newness in society, made me a popular choice for the social gatherings of the season. My days were spent at teas, hunts, balls, and weekend retreats, always escorted by Lord Winston and Hodges. I frequently found myself double-booked and had to rush from one event to the next, with just enough time to perform a quick costume change at the manor between dates.

On a return trip from a stay at the home of Mr. Andrew Norwich, a very influential timber baron, Lord Winston's unregulated voice echoed against the walls inside our train compartment, catching me just before a well-needed nap. "It has been several weeks since your ball," he said, "and you've exceeded all of our expectations."

I smiled, trying to clear the cobwebs that had started to form inside my head. "Thank you, Lord Winston."

"You're quite welcome." He sat forward in his seat. "In fact, the board members and I agree that you are ready for your first assignment."

"Really?" I sat up as straight as I could.

"I'm grateful for your enthusiasm, because your task is an important one." Keeping his eyes on my face, he snapped his fingers and said, "Hodges!"

Hodges stepped across the train compartment and locked the door, then pulled the shades down on the interior doors and windows before returning to his seat.

"Now," Lord Winston said, "there is a gentleman with whom we would like you to become acquainted. His name is Wendell Beringer."

_Great. He sounds old and fat, with a cigar permanently attached to his lower lip._ It wasn't the first time I had been asked to meet someone, and I was frequently disappointed.

Hodges had stressed the importance of useful conversation in such situations, often telling me, "Small talk is a great way for us to learn about the social norms of the time." I looked at him for his usual comment, but he remained silent, staring down at his lap.

Lord Winston continued instead, saying, "Unlike others to whom you have been introduced, we know nothing about Mr. Beringer. From what we have gathered, he is from the South and keeps his finances and family pedigree close to his chest. It will be your job to collect as much information as possible about this man. Hodges will assist you with the particulars." Lord Winston then folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes as he sought to accomplish what I had tried minutes earlier.

_I guess we're done, then?_ I watched him adjust his arms and legs in an effort to get comfortable. I stared at Hodges for several seconds, hoping to dislodge his gaze from his lap. When his eyes finally met mine, I saw a sadness there I had not seen before. I opened my mouth to speak, but he shook his head and looked at the allegedly sleeping Lord Winston, then back at me. " _Later_ ," he mouthed.

Again looking at Lord Winston, Hodges started in on his speech: "It is our understanding that Mr. Beringer will be attending the opera next week. We will also be in attendance, and this will be your opportunity to meet him."

"And what questions am I to ask?"

"You are simply establishing the connection. Just make small talk, as usual."

"How is this different from the other times...that weren't assignments?"

"Aside from the fact that we know very little about this man..." He hesitated for several seconds before continuing, "We would like to find out why a Southern man wishes to hobnob with Northerners."

"Yankees!" Lord Winston corrected Hodges before pretending to return to sleep.

"This is an uncommon occurrence during this period," Hodges added.

_"I smell a rat!"_ Maude's voice sounded in my head. _There must be more to it than that._

One thing I learned early in life from Maude was that asking too many questions could find someone in more trouble than listening ever would. So, rather than press the issue in front of Lord Winston, I decided to once again follow Maude's advice to, "Fill a silent room with your ears, not your mouth," by simply saying, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Hodges said, again avoiding eye contact.

I was exhausted and happy to end the conversation. Therefore, I turned my attention to the tree-lined landscape outside the train car and easily fell into a deep sleep that ended at our station hours later.

* * *

I spent the next several days with Hodges, getting acquainted with the opera and the socially important intermission.

"What was that look for on the train?" I finally asked.

"What look?" He tried to escape the question, until my stare made avoidance impossible. "Fine, the truth is, he doesn't just want you to meet Beringer and make small talk with him. Their goal is for you to make him interested in you."

"Excuse me? Why?"

"They have their reasons, and I'm sure they'll reveal them at some point, but until then, you just need to comply."

"What if he's old and fat?"

"He isn't, Em."

"Well, that's a relief, but what if he doesn't like me?"

"He'd have to be a cadaver to not like you," Hodges said, blushing.

I stared at him for several minutes as he fidgeted with his pocket watch. _This guy must be good looking if Hodges is jealous._ I smiled with relief.

The afternoon of our trip to the opera was spent at a garden party on a neighboring estate, which left little time after for a lengthy wardrobe change, let alone a chance to gather my senses.

"What's my name?" I asked the reflection in my dressing mirror, as I sat before it.

Fortunately, Midge was a quick learner and proved to be my greatest asset, helping me with my dresses, schedules, and, quite often, my continuing education. "Oh, don't you worry, miss," she said, focusing on my look in the mirror as she walked behind me, carrying my dress choices for the opera. "Your uncle will have you married off by the end of the season. Just you wait and see!"

What was left of my saliva instantly flew down the wrong pipe, causing me to cough uncontrollably for several minutes.

"There, there, miss," Midge said, patting me on the back.

Once the choking stopped, I watched Midge hurrying about my room before I finally said, "Please find Hodges for me right away."

She gave me a puzzled look but walked out the door and returned in minutes with Hodges.

"What's wrong?" he asked, staring at my dressing gown as he checked his pocket watch. "We're going to be late."

"Leave us for a few minutes please, Midge," I said.

"I'll just wait in the hall, miss." She closed the door quietly behind her.

"Hodges, are they trying to marry me off?"

His silence was the answer I dreaded.

I swallowed, then asked, "To whom?"

"I'm not sure," he said, but his body language told another story. He stared at the carpet and scooted his foot about, as if he were kicking a rock.

"Why?" I looked beside me at the floor, in search of the elusive, invisible object on which Hodges seemed fixated.

"They've never said. All I can say is that you're their ace in the hole."

"Terrific." I turned to the mirror.

"Em, it's not as if it will be a real marriage." He seemed to debate his answer before finally looking up.

I caught his eyes and held them in the reflection. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're not from here, and you'll be gone in less than four years."

_Great. I saved myself for some old, nasty dude who drools._ I fought the urge to cry, recalling the arranged marriages I had read about.

Hodges stood behind me and held my shoulders, staring at me in the mirror. "I wish it were part of the plan for close cousins to marry. If it were, I'd take the bullet for you."

"Such a martyr." I laughed, trying to choke back the tears that were forming.

"Hang in there," he said. "I'll get Midge."

The maid returned, looking pale. "Everything all right, miss?" she asked with concern.

"Yes, Midge. I'm just nervous about tonight."

"Oh." She exhaled loudly. "I thought maybe you were unhappy with my work."

"Midge! I'm so sorry if I gave you that impression. Nothing could be further from the truth. I couldn't have survived the last few weeks without you." Then I stood and proceeded to give her a socially inappropriate hug that left her blushing. After I released her, I pointed to the dresses she had laid out on my bed. "Now, please help me decide which one to wear."

"Uh, this one, miss." She timidly pointed to a heavily beaded black gown.

"Perfect!" I said, noticing the grin on her face.

She helped me dress quickly, and we walked together to the entry just as Lord Winston and Hodges arrived. Both smiled their approval at my wardrobe choice.

"All eyes will be on you, my dear." Lord Winston said and offered me his arm.

_As long as they're young and good looking!_ I smiled to keep my thoughts inside and accepted with a, __ "Thank you."

The opera was a chaotic event with dozens of carriages and motor cars depositing the most expensively dressed of society at its doorstep. Conversations ceased momentarily as we entered the lobby and were escorted to the boxed seats that awaited us.

"Are these seats always reserved for us?" I asked.

"Yes, we own them." Lord Winston answered my question without turning his head.

"Watch what you do and say here," Hodges said, leaning closer to me. "With the exception of a few other boxes, all in attendance can and will watch our every move, and the acoustics are impeccable."

"Thanks for the warning." I smiled, pretending he had just made a joke.

As the auditorium began to fill, I scanned the audience and realized that many of the attendees were also present at most of the other functions to which I was invited.

"Phew!" I exhaled in relief, feeling a bit more confident with my surroundings. _I can do this._

I had never been to the opera before and feared a scandalous snoring episode that would rival any Papa Bob could have conjured. To my surprise, however, by intermission, I was not only wide awake but truly moved by the emotion in the singers' voices. In fact, although I couldn't understand the Italian arias, I fought, unsuccessfully, to keep a stream of tears from dripping off my chin and onto my dress.

Once the intermission bell sounded, I was in desperate need of a mirror. Although makeup was not in fashion, and I wasn't wearing any, I felt as if the tears had frozen my face into a permanent grimace. I pulled Hodges toward me as we walked down to the lobby. "I need to check my face."

"You look fine," he said, examining me. "Besides, the ladies' room is on the other side of the building."

"Please, Hodges."

He looked at me again, then said, "Very well."

By the time we reached it, the crowded lobby was thick with the buzz of conversation. I was trapped. _Wonderful. I get to meet my future I-don't-know-what with a salty stream of dried tears running down my face. That'll make a lasting impression!_ I searched across the lobby for the sign to the ladies' room and noticed it on the opposite side, as well as a pathway behind the crowd that would easily lead me there. "I can make it from here," I said to Hodges.

But before I could plan my escape, Hodges whispered in my ear, "I see Mr. Beringer." He nodded toward the far end of the crowd, where a group of men were gathered just feet from the ladies' room. "His back is to us," he added.

_Perfect. Then he won't see me while I rush past him to the restroom._ I let go of Hodges's arm.

"Let me escort you," he said, grabbing my hand as I attempted to walk away.

I sighed, knowing I __ didn't have much time to argue. Instead, I dragged him behind me through the throng.

About halfway to the restroom, the crowd suddenly swelled onto our path, causing Hodges to lose his grip. I also lost sight of where Mr. Beringer was standing. Regardless, and without stopping, I continued to walk toward the ladies' room until, just feet from the door, my left arm was pulled back in the opposite direction. I turned to look and realized that the pearl buttons along my forearm were caught on a gentleman's watch chain.

I stepped back to retrieve my sleeve and looked up into the amused blue eyes of possibly the best-looking man I had ever seen. He was more than six feet tall, with a muscular build that was further accentuated by his well-tailored suit. I instantly forgot about the ladies' room.

"It appears your pearls have sought the acquaintance of my pocket watch." He smiled into my stunned eyes.

"I, uh...Yes, they're very social." I struggled to speak, blushing uncontrollably yet unable to remove my eyes from his handsome face.

His laughing blue eyes were complemented by a perfectly straight set of white teeth, surrounded by full, smiling lips that loomed within inches of my face as we remained awkwardly attached. "May I have this dance?" he asked, appearing to thoroughly enjoy himself.

"Well, I'll have to consult my card." I pretended to look at my free hand.

He laughed outright, causing his light brown hair to jiggle freely on his broad shoulders. I couldn't help but notice that he wore it ungreased and several inches longer than most men in the crowd, a bit unruly in a daring and sexy kind of way.

By then, Hodges had arrived. "Allow me," he said over my shoulder, reaching in to untangle us.

I barely heard him above the sound of my pounding heart. I also failed to notice when he had succeeded in his task.

"All done," Hodges finally said.

"Bravo!" the man replied, but he continued to stare into my eyes.

"Thank you, Hodges," I said absently.

Hodges stood beside us and was utterly ignored for several more seconds before he finally said, "I'm sorry, but I don't believe we have made your acquaintance. I am Niles Hodges, and this is my cousin, Emily Winston."

"Please forgive my manners, Mr. Hodges." The man finally broke our stare to address Hodges and shake his hand. "Miss Winston, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well. My name is Wendell Beringer."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Beringer," I said, glad he was neither old nor fat, and I was the only one drooling, at least in my mind. I smiled as he planted a lingering kiss on my waiting gloved hand.

While he was still holding my hand, the bell sounded to mark the end of intermission, requiring us to return to our seats.

"I do hope to see you again, Miss Winston."

"Thank you, Mr. Beringer. I'll try to keep my pearls in check."

"What a shame that would be." He smiled, then turned to address Hodges as he reached out to shake his hand. "Mr. Hodges."

"Mr. Beringer." Hodges shook in return.

Once we resumed our seats, I spent the next several minutes searching the audience for Mr. Beringer.

"Don't be so obvious," Hodges said, leaning close to my ear. "He's in a box above us. You can't see him from here."

"Thanks," I said, refusing to feel embarrassed by my behavior. _Hodges sure has a reason to be jealous!_ I couldn't help but smile at the thought of Mr. Beringer.

When I returned to my room that night, I wrote a journal entry separate from the others:

Mr. Wendell Beringer—smoking hot like the barrel of a gun, Mr. Beringer, I want to bear your son!

Friday, April 1, 1910

Dear Maude,

Tonight at the opera, I met the most gorgeous man I have ever seen. His name is Wendell Beringer, and he's my first assignment. I don't know much about him yet but hope to in the near future. I'm exhausted but excited at the same time!

Love,

Emily

# Chapter Sixteen

**THE SOUND OF** curtains being thrown open almost violently throughout my room greeted me the next morning. Stunned and more than a little annoyed, I squinted at the light and tried to speak, but Midge beat me to it.

"Miss, you must wake up! You have a visitor!"

"A...what time is it?"

"Only six o'clock, miss."

"Did I forget an appointment?"

"No, miss. He arrived unannounced and is waiting in the library."

" _He_?"

"Yes, Mr. Beringer."

Panic set in as I watched Midge flail around my room, loudly opening and closing drawers and cupboards.

"Oh dear! He invited you for a ride, miss, and I don't recall what I've done with your riding habit."

"Midge, please calm down. All this rushing about is making me ill." I sat up and rubbed my eyes.

"I'm sorry, miss, but we must be prepared at all times, and I feel I've let you down."

"You haven't. Besides, a delay serves him right for showing up unannounced. How rude!"

"But my job, miss?"

"You've nothing to worry about."

My comment seemed to go unnoticed, however, as Midge shook her head and continued to scurry about my room like a field mouse or her namesake.

"Has anyone informed Lord Winston and Hodges of his arrival?"

"No, miss. I'm afraid they drove into town together hours ago."

"Has Estelle been saddled?"

"Someone was dispatched to the stables to do just that."

"Perfect!" My conversation was directed to the back of Midge's head, who was now foraging in my wardrobe.

"Boots?" she asked in a panicked voice.

"They're downstairs. They were a mess and needed a shine, so one of the footmen took them down for a good cleaning yesterday."

"Good God!" Midge rushed from the room.

"Poor thing." __ I felt for my slippers with my feet as I rolled out of bed and stretched. I yawned, feeling especially sorry for Mr. Beringer, who would soon discover that I was not a morning person. __ "I hope he doesn't expect much," I mumbled.

I shuffled off to the bathroom and took a quick bath. Although the shower wouldn't be installed in my room for another fifty years, I didn't miss it. I'd grown to love baths and learned how to take quick ones when I needed.

I had just started to dress myself when Midge returned.

"No! Oh, no. _I_ must do that!" she said, dropping the shiny boots and running toward me.

"Midge, you'll be of no use to anyone if you continue to behave this way!" I took her hand and forced her to sit at the foot of my bed. "Now, I want you to take a few deep breaths, then assist me with this horrid corset."

She did as she was told and also helped me with the rest of my outfit.

I tried to make small talk as she piled and pinned my hair up on my head. "He's handsome, isn't he Midge?"

"Oh, miss, I've never seen one more so."

I smiled into the mirror, grateful that my eyes weren't carrying a set of luggage beneath them.

Once my hat was in place, I grabbed my riding crop and went in search of Mr. Beringer.

The library door was open just enough for me to ease around it without making a sound. I found Mr. Beringer leaning against one of the desks, half-seated, with one leg dangling midair and the other firmly planted on the floor. His head was down, buried so deeply in a book that he didn't even glance up when I arrived. I stood just inside the doorway, unable to take my eyes off of the top of his head. His hair covered his face in soft curls that I would have given the kingdom, if I had one, to run my fingers through.

He must have felt my stare, because he suddenly looked up from his book and smiled, brushing his hair from his face as he stood next to the desk. His eyes met mine from across the room, taking on the light that was now pouring in through the library windows. I had never seen such bright blue eyes on anyone who wasn't wearing contacts. They drew me in, almost forcing me to walk closer. I tried to recapture the use of my voice, but could only offer a useless smile.

He closed the book and showed me the cover. "Mr. Twain is a favorite of mine." He spoke in a slight Southern drawl I hadn't detected at the opera. It made me wish that I could hitch my wagon to his horse and ride off into the sunset.

I looked at the book and finally found my voice. "Mine too. He wrote of...life."

"Writes." He corrected.

"Yes." I smiled, slightly flustered by the fact that my brain wasn't quite awake and had forgotten that he wouldn't pass away for a few more weeks. _I guess I'm not very good at this. I wish I could reference the Orientation Manual to brush up on historical events._ "I, um," __ I stammered, attempting to recover. "I suppose I just assumed he's no longer writing, now that he's older."

"Don't let age fool you." He smiled and reached for my hand as I approached. "In an'a event, good mornin', Miss Winston. I do hope that I did not disrupt your schedule."

"Thank you, Mr. Beringer. No, I was just about to take my morning ride." _Right, hours from now_.

"Ver'a good." He took my hand and held it. "It would please me greatl'a if we might ride togeth'a this fine mornin'."

_That would be lovely,_ I thought but blurted out, "The pleasure would be all mine." _Great Em. Leave nothing to the imagination. Why not just tell him that you want to bear all his children?_

Fortunately, Mr. Beringer just laughed at my comment and escorted me to the main entrance of the house and our waiting horses. We rode in silence for several minutes as my humiliation dissipated, then we stopped to admire the view of the house from a clearing some distance away.

"Did you grow up here?" he asked.

"No. This is my uncle's estate," I said, hoping he wouldn't ask me something to which I hadn't learned the answer.

"Just visitin' then?"

"Yes...and you?"

"I've taken Dunston House for a spell while the Faber's are outta the countr'a."

"How convenient." I said, knowing their estate was a short ride from Lord Winston's. "I thought I recognized your horse." I didn't, but I hoped my little lie would further the conversation.

"Yes, they have quite the stables."

"Where is your home?"

"I hope ta make it here," he said, cleverly avoiding the question.

_Darn, he's good._ "Well, I can't say I blame you. It is far superior to many other parts of the world." I smiled, hoping to lure him in.

"I beg to diff'a, Miss Winston."

"Oh?" I said, arching a brow at him and pretended to adjust my gloves.

"Yes, the estates in your part of the world may be large and well kempt, but the prop'aties in oth'a parts are often larg'a and serve a great'a good."

"A greater good, Mr. Beringer?"

"Yes. For one thin', they supply the food for all those fanc'a balls and dinn'a parties of yours."

"Really?"

He grinned smugly in my direction.

I unpacked my innocent voice. "And exactly how do these property owners transport their food stuffs to our tables?"

"Excuse me?"

"Wouldn't a little matter of a railroad assist them in their endeavor? Possibly one built using some of our northern steel? Or do they still call us Yankees in your parts?"

He just stared at me, a grin dancing around the edges of his lips.

"Shall we ride?" I asked. Without waiting for a reply, I started off toward the stream where the horses could get some water. Mr. Beringer was a stronger rider, and he easily beat me to our destination with time to spare. He stood next to his horse as I dismounted and joined him with mine.

"Impressive effort, Miss Winston. It appea's you can do a bit more than just atten' the op'ra."

I chuckled. "You'd be surprised."

"That I don't doubt."

We stood side by side for several minutes, shoulders almost touching, just staring at the stream. I lingered in the usual nervous silence I felt whenever I was in the presence of someone I liked but was too shy to engage in conversation. I tried to sneak glances at his profile as he watched his horse drink. He didn't have a wrinkle on his face, with the exception of a few laugh lines that were starting to form at the edges of his eyes. It was the first time I had been alone with a man who wasn't part of Evergreen's program, and my curiosity about him seemed to undermine all of my training and better judgment.

"How old are you?" The words escaped my lips before I could stop myself.

"Excuse me?" He turned his head slightly toward me.

I closed my eyes, wishing I had remained mute. Now, my only alternative was to avoid making an even bigger fool of myself. "I realize I'm being rather forward, but I'm just curious about your age. You can lie to me, if you wish. I certainly wouldn't know the difference."

"Yes, but I have no reason ta lie ta you. I'm thirt'a-five."

"Oh." I didn't expect him to be that much older than me.

"You soun' disappointed," he said, turning to look me directly in the eyes.

"No, uh...not disappointed. I'm just surprised, that's all. I thought you were much younger."

"Well, thank you, but on most days, I feel quite old." His smile reassured me that I was still in his good graces, and I gratefully smiled in return.

The remainder of our surprisingly lengthy conversation avoided personal questions entirely and focused on such topics as the opera, horses, the weather, and other small talk.

By the time we returned to the manor, we had missed breakfast entirely, and I felt the loss in the pit of my empty stomach. Mr. Beringer dismounted first, gave his horse to the footman, and walked to my side.

As I began my dismount, I felt light-headed and fell almost entirely into Mr. Beringer's arms as he tried to assist me.

"Miss?" he asked, as he struggled to keep the unexpected dead weight of my body from crashing onto the gravel.

Once my feet were firmly planted on the ground, he put his arm around my waist, walked me to the front stairway, and assisted me onto one of the lower steps.

"Put your head between your legs," he said, trying to force my head down.

I struggled to breathe but found enough air to emit two more words just before the world went black: "My corset!"

* * *

I came to on the library sofa, being fanned by a pale, concerned-looking Mr. Beringer. "I'm so sorr'a! I seem to have made matt'as worse."

"Oh, no more so than the person who invented this dreadful implement of torture," I replied, squirming in my corset.

He laughed. "I cannot imagine."

"You're lucky you don't have to."

"I also should'a known that you ha' not eaten breakfast." He paused. "You must think me quite the fool."

"No fools here. Let's just forget all this over luncheon." I glanced at Midge, who had been standing behind Mr. Beringer and looked just as distraught as he was.

She left the room and nearly ran toward the kitchen as I slowly moved to a sitting position on the sofa. With Mr. Beringer's assistance, I walked down the hall to the dining room. Once seated, we awaited the arrival of the footmen and our soup and finger sandwiches.

I came back to life after devouring my share, as well as a second portion of lunch.

"You remin' me of a frien' back home," Mr. Beringer said with a smile.

"Is she pink and answers to sooie?" I asked between bites.

I thought his lunch would explode all over his plate and surrounding table as Mr. Beringer belted out a loud laugh that brought the footmen running into the room.

"It's all right, gentlemen. Just a slight chewing mishap," I said, patting Mr. Beringer on the back.

The footmen left, allowing him to recover.

"My apol'gies." He looked at me while he wiped his mouth with his napkin. "You certainl'a are a surprise." He smiled, staring into my eyes.

_You've no idea_. I just smiled __ back at him.

After lunch was over, I walked Mr. Beringer to the front door, where he stopped and smiled down at me, reaching for my hand.

"Thank you for a ver'a interestin' mornin'."

I laughed. "It's I who should be thanking _you_."

He held my hand, still staring down at me. "I do hope ta see you again, Miss Winston."

"I would like that very much."

"Good," he said, accentuating his drawl.

With a smile still on my face, I walked him out.

He paused briefly before mounting his horse. "By the way, us Tennesseans do try to refrain from callin' y'all up here 'Yankees.'"

"What _do_ you call us, Mr. Beringer?"

"That revelation would not be appropriate!" He smiled while getting onto his horse, then tipped his hat and rode off.

I just stood there, pathetically staring after him as he rode away. "It sure stinks to be me," I said under my breath, before turning and walking into the house.

Saturday, April 2, 1910

Dear Maude,

Mr. Beringer arrived bright and early to invite me to ride with him. I'm usually good with written words, but I can't seem to find the right ones to express how I feel about him. I thought I had it bad for Gerd, but that was nothing compared to this. I think part of it is the mystery of what it would be like to kiss him. I know that might be frowned upon, but I would be willing to risk the scandal.

Hodges and Lord Winston were gone when I went for my ride, so when they returned, I told them about Mr. Beringer's visit. I thought Hodges was going to explode! He shouted at me as if I were somehow responsible for Mr. Beringer arriving unannounced.

Lord Winston is a smart man and stepped in before things became ridiculous but not before I lobbed a few choice words in Hodges's direction. He looked like a wounded puppy when we sat down to dinner. Afterward, he just scooted a journal toward me and mumbled, "Keep track," then wiped his mouth with his napkin and excused himself from the table.

The first page of the journal included the questions I am supposed to ask Mr. Beringer, such as his full name, date, place of birth, etc. After I thumbed through the book for a while, I met the gaze of Lord Winston, who seemed intent on watching me. He congratulated me and assured me that Hodges will get over it.

That was it. As usual, he was a man of few words.

I'm glad I have a nice ceiling in my bedroom, because I have a feeling I'm going to be spending this sleepless night staring at it.

Love,

Emily

# Chapter Seventeen

**THE WINSTON MANOR** rose garden of 1910 was one of the largest and most beautiful I had ever experienced. It boasted more than 500 varieties, just slightly fewer than the Rose Garden in Portland, which I visited regularly as a child. It reminded me of home, and I spent a considerable amount of my free time shadowing the poor gardener or just sitting in the gazebo that stood like a beacon in the center. It was my refuge, and few disturbed me when I was there, Hodges being the one exception.

"Surprise, surprise. You're not out for a ride with our Southern neighbor," he said, his sarcastic comment cutting the air like a knife.

I stood in the gazebo, wishing I wasn't so easy to find. Months had passed, and Mr. Beringer did not return after our first ride. It was a sore subject for me, until Lord Winston discovered that Beringer was out of town on business. Hodges chose to ignore that fact, and I chose to ignore his incendiary comment.

"Morning, Hodges."

"Oh dear. Did he throw you off for a real belle?"

"Really, Hodges, jealousy doesn't suit you."

"Jealousy? You think I'm jealous?"

I just stared at him.

"Well," he stammered, "I'm nothing of the sort. I'm merely attempting to make conversation."

"In that case, you should really work on your technique." I averted my gaze to the roses.

Just down the path, I saw Midge running toward the gazebo, waving her arms in the air. "Oh, miss! Miss!"

Hodges and I walked in her direction, until she reached us, out of breath.

"What is it, Midge?" I asked.

"Oh, dear!" Midge stood holding her side. "Miss, your Mr. Beringer is waiting for you again in the library."

"Is he wearing his riding gear?"

"Yes, miss. I will lay your things on the bed if you wish."

"Yes, please do, but I'll meet Mr. Beringer in the library first."

"Very good," Midge said, still panting.

"Thank you, Midge, but please _walk_ back to the house."

"You're welcome, miss." She bent slightly forward, continuing to hold her side as she ambled back up the path.

"Poor thing," I muttered.

Just then, Hodges grabbed my arm and pulled me within inches of his face. "Tell me, are you in love with him?"

"What!?" I tugged on my arm, trying to pull away.

He just tightened his grip. "Do you have feelings for him?"

"Well, isn't that the point?" I grabbed my arm with my free hand and pulled back.

He quickly let go, causing me to lose my balance and stumble backward.

"Nice," I said, surveying my arm.

"He just wants you for your money!"

"Well, too bad for him that I don't have any."

"Have you forgotten your role? Your parents were killed in an accident, and you are Lord Winston's closest heir."

"What are you talking about? How could I forget something I didn't know in the first place? When did all of this supposedly happen?"

"Oh, about ten years ago. Tragic, just tragic."

"No, I mean, when did the program _decide_ they were dead? I thought I was just visiting."

"Well, technically, you are, but since your parents are gone, you, uh... might decide to stay."

"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"Oh, dear, didn't I tell you? Tsk-tsk." He shook his head. "It must have just slipped my mind."

"Great, Hodges. You really suck!"

"Watch it! Someone might hear you."

"What else don't I know?"

"Well, I guess that all depends on your level of intelligence, education, dedication—"

"Shut up! You know exactly what I'm asking!"

"Hmm..."

I wanted to choke him or, at the very least, shove him into the closest, thorniest rose bush. "Let me rephrase that. What else haven't you told me?"

"My goodness. Is that the time?" he said, focusing on his pocket watch.

"Hodges! I'm serious, dang it!"

"Now, now, is that any way for a proper lady of these times to talk?" he asked, then turned and hurried off toward the stables.

I screamed out load, scaring away the birds that had been grazing on bugs in the hedges surrounding the manor house.

Hodges just lifted up his right hand to offer a back-handed wave as he increased the distance between us.

I took a deep breath, adjusted my skirts, and stormed into the house through the nearest set of doors. Unfortunately, those doors led right into the library, where a grinning Mr. Beringer stood waiting, facing the rose garden.

"Good morning, Mr. Beringer!" I said, trying to laugh off the fact that he had most likely witnessed the whole thing.

"Mornin', Miss Winston. I see you're off ta a fine start!"

_Hilarious, dude, can I slap you?_ Instead, I held firm to both hands and, with a smirk, said, __ "Right, well, my cousin always knows just what to say."

"That's family for you," he said, still grinning.

The library door opened suddenly, making both of us jump as Lord Winston made his presence known. "Mr. Beringer! So good to finally meet you." His voice seemed to enter the room before he did.

"You as well, Lord Winston."

Each offered a solid handshake that the other received with a smile.

"And what brings you here this fine morning?"

"I was hopin' Miss Winston would do me the hon'a of accompan'in me on my ride." Mr. Beringer turned back to look at me.

"Well, I don't see why not," Lord Winston, as usual, replied for me and continued to speak without looking at me for approval. "May I offer you some refreshment while we wait for my niece to return?"

"No, thank you, sir. I've just come from breakfast."

"Excuse me." I took the hint and walked past both men and out of the room.

I hurried to my room and found Midge there, waiting to help me change. We accomplished the task in less than fifteen minutes, allowing me time to stuff my face with a few biscuits from the jar next to my bed. _Don't want to pass out again, or he'll think I'm weak_. Five biscuits later, I was ready to face Mr. Beringer. I rinsed my mouth out with water and returned to the library in just under twenty minutes.

"That was fast," Mr. Beringer said.

"Well, I have a good maid." I smiled, hoping my quickness didn't make me seem too eager.

Lord Winston nodded and gestured toward the door. "I certainly won't keep you two. Do enjoy yourselves."

"Thank you," Mr. Beringer and I said in unison.

Outside, our horses awaited us, and we rode several yards from the house in silence before he finally spoke:

"I hope I didn't catch you without breakfast this mornin'."

"No, I ate plenty, but thank you."

"I must apol'gize for my last visit."

"No reason to. In fact, I insist that we forget all about it."

He smiled and tipped his hat to me as we rode on.

Throughout our ride, we took turns falling behind one another. His tight-fitting gear left little to the imagination, and I hoped mine did as well, even if I was riding side-saddle in a skirt. When behind him, I caught myself staring at his coattails as they parted in the wind, hoping to catch a glimpse of his well-tailored trousers. This occupied so much of my time that we arrived at the stream before I knew it.

I nearly drooled openly as he dismounted and led his horse to the water. Mr. Beringer's legs were not scrawny like the stilts Hodges stood on; rather, he had long, muscular limbs, seemingly capable of anything. _Meow!_ I purred to myself. As I stood next to him along the stream, I felt an attraction so intense that I had to fight the urge to throw myself at him in a humiliating lack of self-control. I could only dream it was mutual as I struggled to remain ladylike.

"Will you be attendin' the ball this evenin'?" he asked, jerking me out of my fantasy.

"Uh...yes. And you?"

"Yes. Matt'a fact, I should prob'ly getcha back so you can make preparations."

"Thank you," I said, even though parting ways with him was the last thing on my mind.

We returned to the manor in silence, again frequently riding single file. As we approached the house, I tried to think of ways to extend our time together.

"Would you care to have lunch with me?"

"Yes, but I trul'a must get back."

I tried to hide my disappointment. "I understand. Thank you for the ride, Mr. Beringer."

"Course." He smiled at me. "Please save a dance or two for me this evenin'."

"I'll see what I can do."

I watched him ride away, still admiring the view and imagining a similar situation in the future. _We would be making out in the barn by now!_ My thoughts kept me staring after him until he disappeared. __ I just shook my head in disappointment as I walked Estelle to her stall.

* * *

The ball that evening was, thankfully, the last of the season. I finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel as Midge buttoned me into my final new dress. The other gowns I'd already worn for the season now bulged from my wardrobe, making it impossible for us to close the door. I looked at my overburdened wardrobe and shook my head, still finding it difficult to believe I had to wear a different dress to each event. I missed my jeans.

Hodges faked an illness to avoid attending the ball, so Lord Winston escorted me alone in his new car, complete with a chauffeur. I was glad Hodges was absent. Too many unanswered questions festered inside me, and I needed answers before I made a fool of myself at the ball.

The car seats were smooth leather and allowed me to inch closer to Lord Winston in an effort to keep the driver from hearing our conversation. "Uncle?"

He turned and smiled.

"How did my parents die?"

"Pardon!?" His explosive voice ripped through the car. He didn't seem too concerned with what the driver overheard, as he cried, "You should know this already!"

"Yes, but I don't."

"Hodges didn't inform you?" he screamed, practically steaming from both ears.

"Please. We have so little time before we arrive at the ball. I just want to do the best job possible." I still felt some sense of loyalty to Hodges, despite his behavior, and I wanted to draw attention back to the business at hand.

Lord Winston took a deep breath and composed himself before finally saying, "In 1900, they were both trampled by a run-away carriage while crossing the street. You were at home with the nanny."

"Who cared for me after that?"

"You have been living with an aunt and uncle in Chicago, but they do not have the societal connections I do."

"And I'm your heir?"

"Yes."

"Is Hodges?"

He shook his head. "He's a cousin by marriage."

"Is Mr. Beringer only interested in my money?"

"Possibly, but I dare say you are still quite attractive with or without the fortune, my dear."

"Thank you." I smiled, feeling a deep blush creeping up my neck.

He paused again. "Hodges was your original suitor before Beringer came along, you know."

"No, I didn't know at all."

"In fact, he's not from your time. He's from mine."

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"He's the son of one of our investors—quite wealthy. You would have made a good match, a power couple, as your modern society would call it. We somehow overlooked Beringer in our research...but it makes no difference now," he said offhandedly.

"Will Hodges continue in the program?"

"That is a matter for debate. He is meeting with the members as we speak to discuss that very issue."

Poor Hodges! He wasn't joking about marrying me. No wonder he's been so nasty.

"Here we are," Lord Winston announced.

My attention was drawn outside the vehicle as a footman reached forward and opened the door for us. He held my hand while I stepped out of the car, onto a red carpet that led up the stairs and into one of the most overstated houses I had ever entered.

The Tosers were the wealthiest family in the region, and their ball was meant to be the most successful of the season. It seemed they had a knack for and the resources for taking the best of all the other balls and combining those elements into one monstrous, unforgettable grand finale. The food, flowers, and décor resembled something from the pages of a magazine.

To top it off, every Toser was an unrepentant snob. They carried their wealth and what it could buy them around like a banner. As we waited in line to meet our hosts, I overheard their replies to the guests who complimented them on the success of the ball: "We just wanted to show you how it's done," or "Just wanted to save the best for last." Regardless of their snobbery, their ball was the place to see and be seen, eagerly anticipated by all the A-listers and everyone else who was hoping to be invited.

Despite my beautiful surroundings, I dreaded every step that brought us closer to the front of the line. Entering a ball was always my least favorite part, because for those few seconds, all eyes were on the newcomers. There was no room for error. Unfortunately, Lord Winston did not have volume control on his vocal chords and always entered a room as if he owned it. I cringed as he loudly greeted the host and hostess, drawing everyone's attention. I wanted to disappear.

"And you've met my niece, Emily, have you not?" he practically yelled.

"Yes, of course." Mr. and Mrs. Toser smiled and held out their hands.

I smiled and shook them, wishing I had faked an illness and stayed behind as Hodges had.

After our introductions, Lord Winston leaned down to my ear and whispered, "Chairman of the Board."

"Of Evergreen Research?"

"Precisely." He stood straight again and smiled, pretending to admire the decorations.

"How do I know who is associated with the program?"

"You don't," he said. "That is why you must never deviate from your assignment." He turned to a passerby and said, "Mr. Carmichael, so very good to see you. Surely you remember my niece, Emily?"

"Of course! Miss Winston, it's nice to see you again."

"You as well, Mr. Carmichael." I shook his hand, then tuned them out as the two talked local politics. Instead, I scanned the room, trying, unsuccessfully, to find Mr. Beringer.

Within minutes of our arrival, the orchestra began to play their first of many waltzes for the evening. It seemed all the eligible bachelors were out in force in a last-ditch effort to secure a wife. They clearly outnumbered the debutantes, many of whom had recently been betrothed or otherwise removed from the dating pool. "Slim pickin's for them," Maude would have said. _But more for me!_ I then proceeded to dance to a state of near exhaustion with everyone who asked.

After an especially brisk waltz, I was able to find my way to the punch bowl, then tried to hide behind a large potted shrub and drink my punch.

"I hope you're not tryin' ta hide from me," Mr. Beringer said through the leaves.

I stepped out from behind the greenery, greeted by his enormous grin. "Well, it seems that I've been caught," I said. "What shall you do with me?"

"For your punishment, you must allow me the next dance."

"How cruel of you, Mr. Beringer!" I put my nearly full punch glass onto a passing tray and placed my hand into his as a slow waltz began to play.

"You've been biz'a," he said, smiling down at me.

"Yes, and you're late."

"I was attendin' ta a little bizness of my own." His smile faded as he looked away.

"Well, you're here now," I said, trying to regain eye contact with him.

Our eyes locked as the music played.

"You look beautiful," he said, smiling again.

"Thank you." I suddenly felt numb. I could have been dancing in the middle of the freeway during rush-hour traffic, and I wouldn't have noticed anything other than him. My heart was pounding as if we were dancing a jig. _Great,_ _I think I'm in love._ I looked away in embarrassment, hoping he couldn't read my mind.

"Are you all right?" A look of concern came over his face.

I offered a weak smile. "Yes, just fine."

The dance ended too soon, and, worse, it was followed by a tap on his shoulder from yet another eligible bachelor. "May I?" the stranger asked.

I secretly hoped Mr. Beringer would refuse the man's request to cut in, but he politely stepped back, smiled, and thanked me.

"No, thank _you_ ," I said before I let my new partner lead me to a different spot on the dance floor.

I spent the rest of the evening feeling jealous of everyone Mr. Beringer asked to dance. I would cut them all down silently, with the nasty comments swirling in my head: _Nice dress. Didn't you wear that to the last three dances?_ or, _You should really take some tweezers to that unibrow of yours._ or, _I didn't know a corset was meant to double as a shoe horn._ The internal comments grew worse as the night went on. _You're lucky I'm not drinking spiked punch._ I simply glared at his next partner.

In the meantime, I tried to carry on idle chatter with my companions regarding the weather or by comparing the current ball to others of the season. They seemed to enjoy the conversation, but I felt detached, hardly participating.

When they announced the final dance, I scanned the crowd for Mr. Beringer but couldn't find him, so my only option was to accept a dance from someone else.

Halfway through our conversation regarding the higher than normal summer temperatures, I heard a familiar voice ask, "May I cut in?" The Southern accent was unmistakable.

"Uh, certainly," my partner said, then reluctantly traded places with Beringer.

I fought the urge to kiss him. "I thought you'd gone."

He laughed. "Just hidin' behin' a shrub."

"I can't blame you." I didn't care if my comment sounded catty.

He pretended to look serious. "Are you married yet?"

"I hope not."

"Me too." he said, showing those perfect teeth of his.

There went my heart. _Thank God for gloves._ I knew without them, my clammy hands would have certainly scared him off.

"I was wonderin' if I might call on you again tomorr'a?" He looked at me with an almost schoolboy shyness.

"I'll be disappointed if you don't, Mr. Beringer."

The dance ended, and he accompanied me to where Lord Winston was standing. "Good evenin', Miss Winston," he said, then leaned down to kiss my hand.

"Good evening, Mr. Beringer." I tried to smile but was disappointed to be leaving without him.

He slowly released my hand and turned to my escort. "Lord Winston, sir."

"Mr. Beringer." After they exchanged their usual handshake, Lord Winston offered me his arm. "Shall we, dear niece?"

I smiled, lost in the clouds until we were finally seated in our car for the ride home.

"Bravo," Lord Winston bellowed. "Well done, my girl!"

"Excuse me?"

"You received no fewer than a dozen offers for dinner in the next few weeks. It would not surprise me to hear of a proposal in your very near future."

"A...proposal?"

"Of course, my dear. You're someone with whom all the mothers wish to pretty up their bloodline, and the fathers want to ogle in their retirement."

I panicked. "What about Mr. Beringer?"

"Oh, there's nothing like a little friendly competition to help accelerate matters."

_Great. I'm a carnival prize._ I just stared at the beaming Lord Winston.

"Oh, cheer up. It will be fun!" He patted me on the knee.

_Wee!_ I offered a sarcastic smile and turned toward the window.

Saturday, July 9, 1910

Dear Maude,

Tonight I went to the Toser ball. It was the most outlandish one yet. It was so extravagant that I was surprised their eight-foot-tall footmen weren't dipped in gold. Maybe I could plant the seed for next year: "Mrs. Toser, so good to see you again! I can't stop thinking about your ball. It reminded me of one I once attended in Chicago, where the footmen were all dipped in gold, and the party favors were so exquisite that I was certain they were part of a museum collection. Oh, dear. What were their names?" Of course, I'll look off into the distance, pretending to recall the hosts. The snobby old biddy will have to fall for that one, considering she can't stand being outdone.

Get this, Maude—Hodges is one of them! I thought he was from the future, but he's actually the son of one of the committee members. He sure fooled me! He was supposed to be my boyfriend until Beringer came along. I really don't understand how someone can just "come along" in the past. I'm confused, but Lord Winston blames it on their research. They claim they don't know much about him, yet they want me to marry him. It's all pretty strange.

Either way, he's "Smoking hot like the barrel of a gun, Mr. Beringer, I want to bear your son." Suddenly, my four year obligation doesn't seem that long anymore.

Love,

Emily

# Chapter Eighteen

**ALTHOUGH NO WORDS** were exchanged between us on the subject, Mr. Beringer was apparently courting me, or at least that was what everyone kept telling me. Our morning riding dates became so routine that I could set my clock by them. Fortunately, our conversations were anything but boring and kept me coming back for more. Whenever he went out of town on business, I found myself taking the morning rides alone, then over-grooming poor Estelle in anticipation of my next ride with Mr. Beringer.

Being around him also kept my thoughts from drifting back home. I missed my mom more than I ever imagined I would. Whenever I felt homesick, I tried to convert a turn-of-the-twentieth-century waltz into a seventies rock song, similar to the ones Mom always blasted in her shop. If I sped them up enough, the technique seemed to work. Then, just for fun, I added lyrics, the same kind Tom would have inserted. He never sang the same words twice, and they seldom had anything in common with the original lyrics. If the song was about cars, for instance, he would sing the praises of whole wheat and how it lowered his cholesterol instead. That was Tom.

"He's a diamond in the rough," Mom would always say, using one of Maude's terms to defend him. If nothing else, he always made her laugh. And I really missed her laugh.

On one occasion, when Mr. Beringer had been gone for more than a week, I felt as if I were going through withdrawals from him, as well as my home. With thoughts of both in my head, I stood, brush in hand, inside Estelle's stall, softly singing and humming in a marathon grooming session that would have made her show-ready an hour earlier: "Better than...a muscle...car. Or Pa's...moonshine straight...from the jar...Yes, Estelle...you sure are...the best. Yeah!"

"Yeah, Estelle!" I sang to the horse.

She offered one big, brown eye, then turned away.

"Video...games cannot...compete with...your brown coat...and four hoofed...feet. Oh yes...girlfriend, you...have them beat... Yeah, uh-huh!" I stopped grooming and pretended to play the brush. "Now for the guitar solo...wah, wah, waaah!"

"Int'restin' tune you have there." Mr. Beringer stood just outside Estelle's stall, with his arms folded across his chest.

I dropped the brush in horror, then fumbled around in the straw to recover it. "You scared me." I quickly reclaimed the brush and focused my attention on picking the debris out of the bristles. I glanced his way several times, noticing there was no expression on his face as he silently watched my efforts. _Crap_ , _who is he?_

"Where did you learn that one?" he finally asked.

"Oh, it's just something from my mother."

"Hmm...What do you call it?"

"She never said." It wasn't a lie, I decided, but I tried to change the subject by saying, "Welcome back! When did you get here?"

"Just now."

The silence in the wake of his short answer was deafening.

"Is everything all right?"

He just stared at me.

I walked out of the stall and stood in front of him. The uneasy quiet that divided us seemed deeper than the Grand Canyon and just as wide. I felt a lump forming in my throat.

After a few more seconds, he finally said, "I just bought a new ca', and I'm wonderin' if you'd care ta go for a ride with me?"

"I would love to," I said without hesitation. "I just need to change."

"No need. What you're wearin' is fine."

I stared down at my dirty, sweaty riding gear, then back at him.

His eyes slowly traveled from my boots to my face, finally resting on my eyes with such intensity that he seemed to bore a hole right through me.

"It'll only be a minute." I tried to brush past him in the direction of the house.

He grabbed me by the wrist. "No, I insist."

"Beringer! It's so good to see you, old chap," Lord Winston called from the opposite end of the stables.

Mr. Beringer released me and adjusted his jacket as we waited for Lord Winston to reach us.

"Are you two off on a ride?" Lord Winston asked, smiling at both of us while shaking his hand.

"No, Uncle. Mr. Beringer has asked me to join him in his motorcar."

"And it's a very fine one, indeed! Please give me the tour while my niece changes."

"Uh, yes, course, Lord Winston, sir."

I quickly walked to the house, wondering how long he had been standing there. _Did he hear the words too? Does he think I'm weird—or is he just grumpy? And why do guys feel the need to grab my wrist all the time? Who the heck does he think he is, anyway? Great, now I'm grumpy!_

In my room, I threw my riding gear off and took a quick tub.

By the time I finished, Midge had found her way into my room and was looking for an appropriate outfit. "Mr. Beringer has a fine new motorcar, don't he, miss?

_Yes, he do!_ I was too irritated to openly mock or even correct her grammar, especially since it had improved considerably since I first met her; instead, I simply smiled as she continued to chatter about him and the car. _What's going on, here? Is he part of the program? Whoever he is, I need to be extra careful._ Questions continued to occupy my thoughts while I donned my riding gloves and left my room.

I met Mr. Beringer and Lord Winston standing beside a shiny, black car. They both looked up as I approached.

"Good ta see you again, Lord Winston, sir." Mr. Beringer extended his hand.

"You as well, Beringer." Lord Winston shook his in reply. He then stepped back, allowing Mr. Beringer to open the door and hold my hand as I seated myself.

That simple touch banished my bad disposition. It seemed to work the same for him as well, because, only a few yards from the house, he reached over and took my hand.

"I'm sorr'a for the way I behaved in the stables."

At that moment, my concern from earlier had disappeared. I really didn't care who he was. I only knew who I wanted him to be—mine. I just stared at his hand holding mine on my lap, feeling a round of stupid tears working their way to the surface.

"I would nev'a do anythin' ta hurt you," he said softly, squeezing my hand.

There they were, streaming down my face. I turned away but not fast enough to hide my tears from him.

"God, I'm sucha..." He turned off the road and pulled me into his arms.

I cried openly, all over his shoulder, as he whispered consolations to me.

"Please forgive me," he said, breathing the words into my ear. "I'm sucha fool."

After also making a mess of a handkerchief he offered, I finally found the words I had wanted to say before. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, my love."

After several minutes passed, he scooted slightly away from me so that he could make eye contact. "Do you still want ta go for a ride?"

"Yes, of course." I nodded, finding the last dry spot on the handkerchief and making use of it. "I'm so pathetic!" I had meant to say it to myself, but the words tumbled out of my lips.

"No, you're most certainl'a not." He produced a clean handkerchief and used it to dry my eyes.

I just stared into his kind face as he dabbed my cheeks and let the cloth travel softly down to my chin. It made me smile.

"Ah, there it is." He held my face with both hands. "I knew that prett'a grin was in there somewhere." He stroked my cheeks with his thumbs, staring into my eyes, then finally at my lips. He leaned toward me and gently touched his mouth to mine.

The moment I had longed for did not disappoint. His warm lips seemed to know their way around mine, as well as my cheeks and neck, without much effort. My body tingled all over as he gently awakened my senses in areas I didn't even know existed, all from the shoulders up.

_He's a magic man!_ I fought all of the unladylike responses that became more and more difficult to suppress. I wasn't sure if I was annoyed or slightly relieved when the sound of hooves on the gravel behind us brought us both back to reality.

We quickly returned to our proper positions on the seat and adjusted ourselves before he pulled back onto the long road that led to the estate entrance. He replaced his hand on my lap, and I entwined my fingers with his as we drove onto the main road.

"I have somethin' ta talk ta you about."

"Oh?" I asked, trying to remain calm.

He exited the main road, turning in at the entrance to the estate he was renting.

"Uh, I don't think Lord Winston would approve," I said, imagining the scandal my unchaperoned arrival at Dunston House would create.

"Oh, we're not goin' far." He pulled off to the side, just beyond the view of the main road. Then, he shut off the engine and stared at me, holding both of my hands in his. "This trul'a isn't the most romantic of spots, so I do hope you will forgive me."

I just smiled.

"But before I get ta the point, I have ta ask you somethin'."

"All right."

"Do you prefer to play video games on a PC or with a gaming console?" His accent was completely gone, as if it had never existed.

I tried to pull my hands from his but was met by more resistance than I could fight.

"Well? Which one?" he asked, still firmly holding on.

I continued to try to break free. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You don't? What kind of fool do you think I am?"

"I don't think you're any kind of fool."

"Then _you're_ the fool." He turned away from me.

"I guess I am, when it comes to caring about you!" I snapped.

He quickly focused his angry eyes on mine. "Then prove you care by answering my question!"

I found my voice around the lump in my throat. "Fine. A PC."

He nodded as he said, "Right, because a PC serves a dual-purpose, doesn't it? You can also use it for research, among other things."

I started to wiggle, like a fish on a line, struggling to get myself free from his grasp, but it was no use. "Let me go!" I screamed, planting my feet against his muscular thigh.

"This is _my_ side of the road, Miss...Whatever Your Name Is. Even if you escape, you won't get too far." He calmly eyed the surrounding trees.

I looked at the forested area as well, and between the branches, I noticed hidden cameras and speakers attached to the trunks. I stopped fighting and simply looked into the eyes that were mere inches from the lips I had kissed just a few minutes earlier. The tears began to flow again; only that time, he didn't offer to dry them.

"You pretend to care about me," he barked, "but honestly, you only care about collecting information on me. Go on. Try to deny it."

I sobbed uncontrollably. "I can't...but it wasn't...much. I just needed your name...where you're from...that sort of thing."

"Right. You're one of them, little Miss Spy. Nothing is that simple."

"Yes, it is!"

"What else do they want to know?"

"Just what we talked about."

"So you told them?"

"Sure, but not about everything, just the main points."

"Damn good thing I didn't tell you anything important then."

"Really?" I asked, crushed. "So all the things you said to me were simply...lies?"

He just stared down at my hands, which he was still holding.

"I _do_ care about you," I whispered, "and I really did miss you when you were gone."

"Do you expect me to believe that? How can I ever trust you?"

"I really don't know what I did wrong here."

He looked into my eyes and the expression on his face changed from one of hurt to one of confusion.

"You really have no idea, do you?"

"No."

"Let me ask you this. Is it normal to collect data on your boyfriend?"

_Boyfriend?_ I could only wish it were true. "Nothing about any of this is normal," I said.

"What do they want from me?"

"They don't know anything about you, so they wanted me to find out."

"Then what?"

"Well, I suppose—"

"They wanted us to marry, correct?" he asked, finishing my sentence for me.

"I think."

"Now I know you're lying," he screamed, quickly losing his patience again.

"No, I know they wanted me to marry you. What I don't know is why. They really haven't told me much, and they don't like me asking questions. Plus, the only person in whom I could confide just quit. Now, I'm on my own."

"Who was that?"

"Hodges."

"Your _cousin_?"

"The one and only."

We sat in silence for several seconds, both deep in thought, until I tried to offer him my game plan. "Let's just forget it. Even though they funded my college, I'll just go back to Winston Manor, tell them I'll pay them back for my scholarship, and be done with all of this. I'm tired, and I just want to go home."

He laughed. "God, you really are a mushroom. You can't just do that."

"Don't worry. I won't tell them you discovered my identity."

"It's not that easy."

"Why not?"

"They don't like to lose."

"Well, that's too bad. I'm finished."

"Sorry, but you're actually only beginning."

_Huh? Just when I thought I couldn't get any more confused._ "What are you talking about?"

"Do you have any idea what happens to someone who tries to leave the program or fails at an assignment?"

"Not entirely. I do know that some who don't do so well on their training become servants at Winston Manor. I guess others maybe just fork over the scholarship money or something along those lines."

He shook his head. "Not exactly. I'm sure that given the choice, though, they'd choose the repayment option."

"Then what happens?"

"Let's take a real drive this time."

"Okay, but how are we going to do that?" I gestured to my hands that he was still firmly clasping.

He released them. "Don't run."

_Yeah right!_ I looked up at the cameras, then sat back in my seat, rubbing my wrists as he turned the car around and drove toward the village. Several minutes later, we approached a part of town I'd been forbidden from acknowledging, let alone visiting.

"I suggest you duck," he said, grabbing me by the shoulder and drawing my head down onto his lap. "Keep down until I say."

Several minutes later, darkness overcame the car, and we came to a stop.

"Okay," he said.

I sat up and saw that we had pulled into an alleyway.

"Stay here," he said. Then, without waiting for my reply, he exited the car and walked down the alley and through the nearest doorway.

Minutes later, he returned with a tall girl, dressed in a bright blue dressing gown. He pointed to the car, and she walked alone toward me. At first, the light behind her cast a shadow that made her features impossible to discern, but as she drew closer, she became more and more recognizable.

Within a few yards of the car, I was able to see her with perfect clarity. "Sophia," I said with a gasp, clasping my hands over my mouth.

She opened the driver-side door and sat behind the wheel.

I went to hug her, but she put up her hand and said, "No."

"Sophia, what's going on? What is this place?"

"Em, sweetheart, it's a bordello."

"Okay, but what are you doing here?"

"Take a guess, Em."

"No, I mean...why?"

She laughed for several seconds. " _This_ is what happens when you don't succeed."

"At what?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes, at getting you and Gerd together."

"But we _did_ date."

"Yes, _and_ you were supposed to marry."

"Excuse me?"

"Em, he's the heir to a vast fortune that would have financed years of research for Evergreen. However, Gerd's father insisted on something more stable. He wanted his son married before he would share his wealth with him or the company. It was my job to pique Gerd's interest in someone in the program, a suitable wife who would also help further the cause. They all agreed it should be you, even Gerd. But in the end, I failed."

"What? I was the one who broke up with him. He was the loser, not you."

"No, in this world, men with money don't lose."

"But what about your father, George?"

"He isn't my father. He was my boss. I'm a scholarship student as well."

"But—"

"I grew up with a single mom, too, but mine liked her drugs more than me, and she did anything for them. I had a lot of daddy's growing up, but George Winston wasn't one of them."

"And those stories you and Gerd talked about at dinner in The Garden? The jealousy?"

"All lies to get you to be with him."

"What was the deal with you and the limo driver that night? He gave you such an evil stare, and I didn't even see a cat."

She laughed. "There was no black cat. The chauffeur is part of the program. He was afraid I would say too much to you...it was his way of warning me."

Suddenly, I felt as if I were the biggest loser of all. I couldn't believe I'd been so easily manipulated. I didn't know whether to feel angry or foolish or both. __ I took a few seconds to collect my thoughts, then asked, "How did you get here?"

"They promised me a job in the past, so I took it. I guess I should have asked a few more questions, right?"

"Soph, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize—"

"I know."

"What can I do?"

"Just go along with them, Em. "

"No, I mean what can I do for _you_? I have money and jewelry. They can buy you a train ticket out of this place." I reached up to take off my necklace.

She pulled my hands away from my neck. "I have all I need here, Em."

"But—"

"Em, for the first time in my life, _I'm_ in charge, and people need me."

"What? I don't understand."

"I am the madam of my own bordello."

"But you shouldn't have to be _here_ to do that. You belong in the future."

"No, Em, it's you who belongs in that time. There's nothing for me there."

I was so frustrated that I wanted to cry.

"I'm actually happy, Em." She flashed me what looked like a genuine smile.

"You can't mean that!"

"I do. Please, Em, we only have a couple of minutes, and there's something important I need to tell you."

"Okay."

"Whatever you do, don't trust Lord Winston or anyone he knows. Also, make sure you succeed at whatever he asks you to do."

"Well, he wants me to marry Mr. Beringer here, but now I'm sure that's not going to happen."

"Really? I wouldn't be too sure. He obviously cares about you, or else he wouldn't have brought you here."

"But—"

"Please, Em, for once in your life, don't argue with me! I know you're smarter than me at most things, but I obviously have some experience in this area."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not. Actually, I'm one of the lucky ones." She looked straight ahead at the dark alley in front of us.

"Lucky?"

"Yeah. It seems our friend Gerd won't be inheriting his father's vast estate after all. His younger brother is in line for that."

"Because of me?"

"No. He went in search of his own fortune in the diamond mines of South Africa. Unfortunately, he arrived right in the middle of the Second Boer War, looking more Dutch than British. Poor Gerd didn't last a week. He was never much of a student of history."

_I guess you were wrong about guys with money not losing._ I felt too nauseous to voice my thoughts.

"Watch your back and trust no one, Em. This Beringer guy might be all right, but I'd still be careful."

"Who is he?" I asked.

"Beringer?"

I nodded.

"All I know is that he works for the other side." With that, she gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and stepped out of the car.

I scooted toward the driver-side door. "Soph, don't go! This can't be it!"

"Sorry, Em, but we both have our false reputations to uphold."

"Will I see you again?"

"Possibly but probably not on purpose."

My eyes clouded with tears as I watched Beringer walk toward her while she made her way down the alley to her bordello door. He kissed her on the cheek and placed something in her hand before they went their separate ways.

"Do you understand now?" Mr. Beringer asked as he climbed into the car and again put my head on his lap.

I nodded but was unable to wrap my mind around what had just happened. The light flooded into the car as we drove from the alleyway.

"Okay," he said, and finally allowed me to sit up.

I spent several minutes staring at the countryside before I asked, "How did you find her?"

"I accompanied a very intoxicated friend into her establishment one evening and noticed that she wore a class ring. It seemed out of place for a woman of her profession, and I was curious. For a fee, she told me her story."

"Did you...with her?"

"No."

"Good. How did you know she's my friend?"

"I didn't." He had a strange look on his face as he turned to me. "I just thought she could give you some insight into Lord Winston and those who don't succeed in the program. So you know her?"

"She was my roommate in college." I paused, then added, "I put her in that bordello."

"Excuse me?"

"She failed in her assignment to marry me off to someone, so they sentenced her to this life."

"Well, you can't take responsibility for that."

"And the guy I was supposed to marry wound up being slaughtered in the Second Boer War."

"That wasn't your fault either."

"Really?"

"Tell me, did you know about either incident prior to their occurrences?"

"Stop talking as if you're one of them!" I shouted.

He just stared at the road ahead without replying.

Several yards later, I finally calmed down. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little overwhelmed."

He continued to watch the road but nodded. "I understand."

"Do you? Because I sure don't."

"Don't worry. I won't abandon you. Whatever happens, I'll take care of you."

"But they mean for us to be married."

He reached for my hand and brought it up to his mouth. "As I said, I'll take care of you." He kissed my fingers.

_Yeah_ , _aren't you the same guy who said that you'd never hurt me?_ "Who are you, anyway?"

He finally smiled. "That, my dear, is a subject for another day."

He held my hand on his leg for the remainder of the trip, only releasing it when he needed his hand for driving. I was so deep in thought that I hardly noticed the ride at all until he brought the car to a stop in front of Winston Manor.

"Shall we resume our ridin' schedule in the mornin', Miss Winston?" he asked, reverting to his accent.

"I'll be disappointed if we don't," I said with a smile. Although I was having a few trust issues at that point, I thought it best to play along.

The footman opened my door and assisted me in exiting the car.

Mr. Beringer walked around to my side. "Good aft'anoon, miss." He smiled and kissed me on the cheek.

"Good afternoon," I said, then watched him walk back to his side of the car.

I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in my room, unable to face Lord Winston after all I had learned about him and his program. I even faked an illness to avoid dinner with him. My evening was spent slurping soup from a bowl, delivered on a tray from the kitchen, and writing in my journal.

Wednesday, August 17, 1910

Dear Maude,

I can't begin to tell you what my day was like. I don't even know if I should. Writing all this down might not be such a good idea, but I can't keep it in much longer, and you were always there for me, Maude, even now.

Mr. Beringer caught me singing Tom-like lyrics to Estelle. He seemed angry but didn't confront me at first. Instead, he apologized for being upset, and we even made out. Then he snapped. One minute he was kissing me, saying he will never hurt me, and in the next, he looked as if he wanted to kill me. I'm an emotional wreck! I have no idea who he is, but he knows Sophia. She's a madam at a brothel in town. Can you believe that? Being sent there was her punishment for not getting Gerd and me to marry. Even more shocking, she actually likes it! Then, she told me Gerd died in the Second Boer War. I was sorry to hear it. What a waste.

I'm scared, Maude. I don't want to end up like them. Beringer promised to protect me, but I don't even know who he is, and right now, I'm not sure I can trust him. I used to think I was only on a four year scholarship, and I just wanted to do my time and get out of here. Now, I just want to survive.

I'm going to have to cut this short. I need to rack my brain to try to figure out what other historical events I need to write down, so I don't get sent to my own personal Boer War and end up dead.

Love,

Emily

# Chapter Nineteen

**AFTER SEVERAL DAYS** , my fake illness drew the concern of Lord Winston who, in turn, called for a doctor. I lay in bed with my arms folded across my chest, waiting for the ancient, obese Dr. Morris to push himself away from our dining room table long enough to examine me.

My plan was simple: I would fake an illness that required a specialist and eventually a so-called cure that could only be found in the future. Since my grandfather was a doctor, I spent many rainy days as a child thumbing through Papa Bob's voluminous library of medical books. Many of the infectious illnesses burned an indelible image in my memory that I now drew upon to aid me in my escape. _I hate these people_ , a _nd I'm not going to help them anymore with their stupid agenda._

The heavy footsteps and labored breathing of Dr. Morris, as he approached my room, finally brought me from my thoughts. "Miss Emily," he said, after he squeezed through the door and waddled closer to my bedside. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"I don't know, Doctor. It's like nothing I've ever felt before. Do I feel hot to you? Also, my nose just won't stop bleeding!"

He stopped at the foot of my bed, and his blubbery mouth fell open while I proceeded to describe, in great, gory detail, the other symptoms of typhoid fever as I remembered them. At that time, many feared the disease that was a result of the presumed unsanitary cooking habits of Mary Mallon, a cook accused of spreading it to wealthy families in the New York area. Disturbingly enough, Typhoid Mary was a hot topic of conversation around most dinner tables.

"Gad!" The doctor stepped back from the bed in an uncharacteristically quick movement that his body probably hadn't produced since childhood. He hurried to my bedroom door and fumbled for the knob. "This could be serious, very serious indeed. I shall recommend you to a specialist straightaway."

_Victory!_ I fell into a coughing fit for effect.

The door slammed as the terrified, pudgy physician ran for his life.

"Thanks, Papa," I muttered under my breath.

I rested my head back on my pillow and smiled, recalling the tales he told me about Typhoid Mary and the disease associated with her nickname: "They say that typhoid can be spread by people who touch your food without first washing their hands, especially after using the bathroom." Papa's chilling words always sent me running back to the restroom for another scrub, his deep laughter following me all the way to the sink. I sure missed him.

My plan worked like a dream—a bad one—because within hours, I was being rushed to the hospital in New York City where an alleged specialist found me negative for every disease for which there was a test, including typhoid fever. Finding nothing wrong, he proceeded to turn my formerly healthy self into a limping vessel of disease and infection with his own brand of chemically toxic creations, formulas he had concocted for such situations. Lord Winston didn't even visit me, nor did he send anyone to escort me to the future. Apparently, I was more expendable than I thought.

I was eventually transferred to a sanatorium to recover from my backfired plan. It was there, between my most recent bout of fever, that Mr. Beringer saved me from myself.

"You little fool!"

I stared up at his blurry face from my bed.

"If you wanted to commit suicide, I have a perfectly good firearm that would have completed the task weeks ago."

I tried to smile, but my chapped lips wouldn't allow it.

"I'll see to it that you are moved this afternoon, so you must pretend to feel better."

I nodded, and when a doctor entered the room a few minutes later, I sat up, smiled, and offered an award-winning performance that succeeded in gaining me a transfer out of there.

"Remarkable," the doctor said, excitedly scribbling notes on my chart as he left the room.

I felt like vomiting.

Beringer kissed my feverish cheek. "Midge is here to help you get dressed. Keep pretending while I pull the car around."

Midge edged her way nervously into the room. "Hello, miss."

"I must look a fright." I tried to smile, but felt my lips cracking in the process.

"Oh, no miss. It's nothing a little of Mrs. Fromm's soup wouldn't cure." She wasn't much of a liar, but I couldn't fault her for trying. She finally made it to my side and helped me into my clothes.

"Please don't lace that thing too tightly," I pleaded as she assisted me with my corset.

"No, miss." She barely laced it at all.

By the time Mr. Beringer returned, I was clad in proper clothes and a coat and was being loaded onto a creaky wheelchair.

"Thank you, Doctor," Mr. Beringer said, and the men shook hands.

Yeah, thank you, Doctor...for nearly killing me!

The ride from the sanatorium was more than my fragile body could handle. The road was possibly the bumpiest in a 100-mile radius, and we had to stop numerous times so I could be sick. "How much farther?" I moaned after a bout of the dry heaves.

He patted my knee. "Not far."

At some point along the way, I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remember, I was being carried from the car and placed on a stretcher. "Wh-Where am I?" I said, my voice a weak imitation of its former self. I starred up at paintings and coffered ceilings in what appeared to be the front hallway of a house.

Mr. Beringer looked down at me. "Dunston House, my dear. Now just try to relax."

I must have taken his advice, because when I awoke next, I was lying in a white, hospital-looking room, with tubes protruding from every orifice, and modern instruments beeping in the background. _I'm home_. I felt a warm tear traveling from the corner of my eye to my ear.

I remember briefly waking several more times over the course of an unknown period, before I finally regained full consciousness. I looked around and saw a nurse checking the instruments that surrounded me. "Am I home?"

She jumped and nearly dropped the chart in her hand. The nurse stared, wide-eyed, at me for several seconds before saying, "Oh, dear. I'll get the doctor." Then, she put down the chart and quickly left the room.

A doctor returned within minutes with his outstretched hand leading the way. "Hello, I'm Dr. Simone."

I shook his hand, trying to sit up. "Hello, Doctor. Nice to meet you."

"How are you feeling this evening?"

I looked for a window but didn't spot one. "It's evening?"

"Yes."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Well, you've been here for two weeks," he said, flipping through my chart.

"Excuse me?"

He shined a light in my eyes. "Your condition was very serious."

"Am I okay now?"

"We'll run some tests, but the fact that you have regained consciousness is a very good sign." He then placed the ever-chilly stethoscope on my chest and asked me to take deep breaths.

"Where am I?"

"You are in very good hands, miss." He closed my chart and exited the room.

Nice answer, Doc. Yeah, nice and evasive. You could have made up a hospital name, and I wouldn't have known the difference.

I continued to look around the room and realized the walls didn't quite touch the ceiling in parts. "Nice movie set, people, but attention to detail is everything," I said under my breath.

Almost immediately, the door swung open, and Mr. Beringer entered the room, dressed in a shirt and pants made of a fabric I didn't recognize. He remained near the doorway as I continued to stare at his clothes.

"Emily," he said. This marked the first time he had ever called me by my first name.

I looked at his face as he pulled a chair closer to my bed.

"What were you thinking?"

"I thought faking an illness would get me transferred back to the future, for a cure."

"But typhoid fever?"

"Well, my grandpa was a doctor."

He just laughed.

"You find this funny?"

"No. It's just that...Well, it seems you really aren't very good at this."

"At what?"

"At manipulating the past."

"Apparently not." I folded my arms and stared down at my hospital bed.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't joke. We almost lost you, Emily."

"You're obviously not who you say you are," I said, trying to change the subject. "Is your real name even Wendell?"

"I go by Dell. Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, you almost lost me. But really, Dell, would that have been so bad?" I again stared at my bed. "I mean, Lord Winston only wants to use me. You can't trust me, and my only alternative to helping Lord Winston is a life of prostitution. Plus, I probably won't ever see my mom again, so what's the point?"

"The point? Oh, Emily, you are so—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm so naïve. Isn't that part of my usefulness, though? Let's just recruit stupid, gullible Emily to further our cause." My voice rose as my mouth got away from me. "Yes, poor, naïve, silly little Emily. She'll do just fine."

"I doubt that's the case, Emily."

"Really? Well, I think you're wrong. Then, to make matters worse, you come along and try to do the same thing, only it's because you want to cozy up to Lord Winston, so you can do whatever it is you're supposed to do. Sure, just marry his niece, poor, naïve, unsuspecting Emily!" I was almost hysterical now, talking as loud as my weak lungs would allow. "Did I mention that I'm still a virgin? Yeah, you bet. I've saved myself so some guy who hates me can get closer to my dreaded employer. Isn't that just a peach?" I sobbed uncontrollably into my hands, sliding back down in my bed. "I just wanted a stupid scholarship so I could go to college! Was that so much to ask?" My words were almost unintelligible as I wailed into my tear-soaked sheet.

The monitors beeped loudly, as if to compete with my hysteria.

"Are you finished?" Dell calmly asked the top of my head.

"Patronize me all you want. I really don't care!" I sat up slightly and used the sheet to mop up my face.

"Emily, I don't hate you."

"Okay. You just strongly dislike me."

He handed me a box of tissue, which I proceeded to make use of for the next several minutes. When I was finished, he lifted a trash can to my side, and I deposited the used tissues into it.

"Now, can we talk?"

"Fine." I stared at him through puffy eyes.

"I love you."

"Excuse me?"

He just smiled.

"How can you love me, especially since I work for the other team?"

He shrugged and continued to smile. "Good question."

I just glared at him, making him smile even more.

"You were a surprise to me. None of my research included you. Therefore, I didn't have reason to believe that you aren't, in fact, Lord Winston's niece."

"Figures."

"It's actually a good thing."

"How so?"

"You're a wild card."

"A what?"

"A wild card, a historical figure that obviously existed in the past but managed to remain anonymous. I appear to be one as well, at least in Evergreen's eyes. This means we can come and go, possibly influencing but not directly changing any events. We're safe."

"And that's good for what?"

"As I said, for influencing but not directly changing events."

"Is there an echo in here?" I pretended to scan the room.

"Emily, it's precisely why you are so important to Lord Winston, and why he wants us to marry."

"My brain hurts" I said, massaging my forehead. "Please connect the dots for me."

"Okay, he can continue to use you to collect information on people without you interfering with his agenda. If you marry me, it will only expand his sphere of influence to the Southern states. He can use me, as his presumed nephew-in-law, to assist him in gaining access to players in that region. Sweetheart, we're a safe match historically. Aren't you excited?"

In normal circumstances, his enthusiasm would have almost been contagious; however, those circumstances were anything but normal. "So we don't save the day?" I asked, focusing my rubbing efforts on my temples.

"Not directly."

"I hate Lord Winston."

"I know." He stroked my blanket-covered leg.

"What is this agenda of theirs, anyway? And for that matter, what's _yours_?"

"Evergreen Research was created for one reason, to allow wealthy individuals the ability to alter past events, thereby gaining more wealth and power."

"Sick. Have they been successful?"

"Not yet. I'm with a company that strives to allow history to run its natural course, without any outside influence."

"Does Evergreen know about your company?"

"Not at this point, no. They're still in their infancy, so to speak, arrogant enough to believe they are the only ones with time-travel technology."

"Are you a scientist?"

"Yes, as well as an engineer."

"Do you make slaves out of scholarship students?"

"No!" He laughed, patting my hand. "A close relative of mine started this business for us."

"Us?" I asked, sitting up in my bed.

"Yes, you and I are meant to be together."

"What do you mean?"

He took my hand in his. "Emily, I'm from the future."

"Yes, so am I."

"No, I'm from the distant future."

"How distant?"

"The year 2125, to be exact."

"Oh. Now, I really have a headache!"

He let me digest that for a moment, without adding anything new.

Finally, my curiosity caught up and forced me to ask more questions. "Who is this relative of yours, the one who started the business?"

"He's our son."

"Bucket!" I screamed.

Dell quickly handed me the garbage can so I could endure an episode of the dry heaves.

"This isn't happening!" I straddled the can and dropped my head back on my pillow. Then, without lifting it, I turned my gaze on him. "Are we in the future now?"

"Yes."

"Is that why your clothes are so weird?"

"Yes." He laughed. "This fabric is virtually indestructible."

I sat up, leaned forward around the garbage can, and grabbed the sleeve of his shirt. I tugged at it, and it stretched in reply.

"Watch, I'll show you." He stood to unbutton the shirt. I stared at each button as he started at the top and worked his way to the bottom, slowly revealing his muscular chest beneath.

_Water!_ I tried to find some saliva in my mouth, and in the effort, I lost interest in the fabric and whatever features it held that Dell was planning to show me. All I could do was watch as he unbuttoned his cuffs and removed the garment. His bare shoulders were full, toned to perfection, with two enormous arms descending, in all their muscular glory, from either side.

_You're killing me!_ But my thoughts didn't keep me from trying to find a good excuse to convince him to turn around. "Uh...what's that over there?" I pointed at the wall behind him.

He fell for it and turned, allowing me to examine the rippling muscles that formed his back.

_Nice butt!_ I noticed as my eyes traveled the length of his torso.

"Over where?" He turned back to me, catching me in the act. "I can't believe I fell for that!" He laughed. "I thought you were ill."

"Ill, not dead." I tried to sit up straighter in my bed. "What else do you have for me?"

"I think that's quite enough for today." He put his shirt back on.

"Tease." I noticed a new look on his face as he buttoned his shirt. "You're blushing!"

"Quiet, you. Don't you need to take a nap or something?"

"No. I'm wide awake now."

He smiled as he finished dressing and resumed his seat next to me.

"Since we're in your future now, can I—"

"No, Em."

"I didn't even get to finish my question."

"It doesn't matter. The answer is still the same."

"Why not?"

He just stared at me for a few seconds before saying, "I brought you here against the advice of others, to save you. This room is as far as you go."

_Whatever._ "So what now?"

"Well, we will return to the past, prior to your illness, back to our afternoon drive."

"Okay..."

"Only this time, on that drive, I will have proposed to you."

"And I accepted?"

"Yes."

"What about my clothes from that day?"

"We have them."

"Is Midge part of this?"

"Yes, but never speak of it with her or anyone other than me...and never, ever at Winston Manor."

"Okay. I suppose it's probably bugged."

"Exactly. Are you ready?"

"Yes, I guess so."

Dell walked across the room, to a small closet, and produced the exact outfit I wore on that fateful car ride weeks earlier.

"I'll be just outside." He opened the door and exited the room.

I felt disgusting, and wished, more than anything, that I could take a shower before we left. They must have read my mind, because within seconds, Midge appeared with two men in white coats, pushing a cart that contained a filled bathtub. After they left, she half lifted my emaciated body into the tub and helped me wash my weakened self until I looked and smelled as I should.

"Thank you, Midge."

"You're welcome, miss." She held my hand as I stepped onto a towel she had placed on the floor.

Once I was dried, dressed, and presentable, with a good tooth-brushing thrown in the mix, I walked out of the room into an area that was draped with floor-to-ceiling, white plastic curtains.

"Can't be too careful," Dell said. Now dressed in the suit he wore the day of our drive, he offered me his arm.

"Guess not." I took his assistance and walked with him for the first time in more than a month. "I feel a little light-headed," I said, grabbing his arm with both hands to steady myself.

"Just a few steps more." We rounded a corner that led to a dark, warehouse-type space that held his new car. We approached the passenger door, which he opened for me, and he helped me inside. Midge climbed in the back seat.

When Dell first showed me the car, I paid little attention to it; at the time, I was far too preoccupied with the events occurring around me. That time, however, I realized the vehicle was unlike any other I'd ridden in or studied about from that time frame. Most cars of that era were manufactured for right-side driving, without a working door on that side, if they even had front doors.

"Dell, are you sure your people have this right?" I finally asked.

"Excuse me?"

"What kind of car is this?"

He followed my gaze as I looked from left to right at the two functioning front doors. "Cars such as this were in their infancy. We just...helped them along," he said with a grin.

"Won't that draw suspicion?"

"No. We're quite experienced in covering our tracks."

"And Lord Winston won't be suspicious?" I asked, remembering his interest in the car the first day Dell drove it to Winston Manor.

He smiled. "You missed that conversation."

"No kidding. I've missed a lot of things lately."

He continued to smile and pretended to adjust his mirrors.

"Whatever," I mumbled and looked around for any more surprises. "Is there a CD-changer stashed under the seat?"

Midge let out a strange snort behind us and blushed uncontrollably when Dell and I turned to look at her. "Sorry," she said, then stared at the floorboards.

_I guess not_.

As I faced forward again, I caught Dell smiling and shaking his head. "I sure missed you."

"Thank you." I wanted to say more but felt Midge's eyes on me.

"Shall we?" Without waiting for a reply, Dell grabbed the wheel, turned on the engine, and slowly drove to the far side of the room, where a bay door opened into a tunnel.

"A self-starting engine?" I asked.

Dell offered another of his I'm-not-going-to-answer-that smiles and reached for my hand. "Close your eyes."

Rather than asking another question that I knew would be left unanswered, I did as I was told, closed my eyes, and bowed my head toward my lap.

I heard the engine accelerate for several seconds as a warm wind whistled around the edges of the car. Within minutes, the vehicle slowed and the whistling stopped. With a jerk, I felt as if we were being lifted, car and all, into the air. Light seemed to replace the darkness as I slowly opened my eyes to see us travel through two large garage doors onto the gravel path that led us from Dunston House to the main road to town. Just like that, we were back, and I was grateful it was much better than the rollercoaster ride I'd taken with Evergreen.

The car came to a stop, and Dell let Midge exit the vehicle.

"Thank you, sir," she said.

I imagined the long walk she would have to take before reaching Winston Manor. "Can't we drop her closer?"

"Not without drawing suspicion. We'll give her a head start, though, so she will be back at the manor before we arrive."

When we finally pulled up in front of the residence, I felt as if I had been gone for years. The footman opened the door for me and helped me out, and Dell came around to my side and took my arm.

"It appea's that Miss Winston has taken ill. Can you please alert her housemaid?" Dell remembered to speak in his Southern accent.

"Yes, sir," the footman said, then left to find Midge.

"I hope she made it in time," I said, suddenly feeling weak.

"She did." He helped me up the stairs and into the hallway.

Midge met us there, making a fuss over me as she led me to my room.

I stopped midway up the stairs and looked back at Dell, who was still standing in the entryway. "Thank you, Mr. Beringer."

"You're quite welcome; I will call on you lat'a ta see how you're a-doin'."

"How nice. Thanks again." I turned to Midge and the remaining stairs.

Once in my room, she helped me into bed, where I spent the next few days recovering from my illness that never occurred.

Dr. Morris was called again, only that time his diagnosis was simple exhaustion. He recommended bed rest and Mrs. Fromm's famous soup, which he sampled in excess before promising to return to check on my progress in the morning.

_Phew, dodged that bullet!_ I pulled the blankets up to my chin.

August 17, 1910 (again)

Dear Maude,

Remind me to never use illness as an excuse to avoid reality, regardless of which reality I'm living in. Long story...

Love,

Emily

# Chapter Twenty

**ONE THING I** learned, living in a house with a staff as large as Winston Manor's, was that news traveled extremely fast, especially good news. The wedding date was set for November 12, so while I was recovering from my bout with so-called exhaustion, everyone around me was already making plans for the upcoming engagement party.

_Who needs the internet?_ I decided as I worked my way through the stacks of menus and sample invitations. I also had to peruse drawings of dresses and other clothing, complete with fabric swatches, which covered my bed and the floor surrounding it. "Isn't there someone on staff who can do this for me?" I asked Midge.

She just frowned and left the room.

_Oops!_ I felt bad, knowing she was most likely just as overwhelmed as me. __ I collected my thoughts for several minutes as I rifled through the pile of menus in front of me. It was difficult to be in the mood for a wedding that I knew wasn't real. I realized it was all part of the game, but for everyone's sake, including my own, I had to learn how to fake it. That faux enthusiasm was all the more important since my room was likely bugged. My solution was to dramatically flop my head back on my pillow and play up my exhaustion one last time. I let out an audible sigh and said, "I wish I wasn't so pooped. It's ruining the excitement!" _There, that should satisfy them for a while._

Regardless, that was my last performance. All of the planning had motivated me to step up my recovery in order to escape it, so by the end of the day, I was already taking a walk through the rose garden.

"I thought I'd find you here." I heard a voice behind me just as I was inhaling the especially fragrant scent of a pinkish-purple rose that bore the label "Reine des Violettes." I turned to see Dell walking toward me, with a huge grin spread across his face.

"Good Morning, sweetheart," he said, then planted an unexpected, lingering kiss fully on my lips.

"Well it is now." I smiled. "That should convince them."

"You're the only one I want to convince." His concerned eyes met mine. "Are you doing okay with all the planning?"

"It's difficult to plan for something that isn't real, but I'm managing."

He let out a nervous chuckle. "Who said it isn't real?"

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?" he asked, with an edge in his voice.

"What I mean is it's all so...contrived."

"Darling, we're getting married in a few months. How is that contrived?"

I thought for a few seconds. "I'm confused."

"That you are. Perhaps you should go back and lie down."

"No, I'd rather stay out here. The fresh air does me good," I said, a weak attempt at sounding stubborn.

We walked in silence to the end of the rose garden and gazebo, onto the lawn that followed.

"I'm sorry, Dell. I didn't mean to offend you."

He didn't respond.

"I just...Well, I guess I thought this is all just for show."

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and pain. "Have you no feelings for me at all?"

"Yes, of course, but..." I stopped to rub my temples. "The other day, you said that we became engaged on our drive."

He just stared at me.

"You didn't ask me. You _told_ me. It was more of an order than a proposal. Help me out here, Dell. Do you really _want_ to marry me?"

Dell stared at the ground for several moments before reaching for my hand and drawing it up to his mouth. He kissed it slowly, moving from my finger tips to my knuckles, then to my wrist. "I'm a complete fool. I forgot that you cannot see the future as I can. You have no idea. I made an assumption, based on knowledge to which you are not privy, and I am truly sorry."

"Okay, but I'm still confused," I said, feeling weak again.

"Sweetheart, I absolutely want to marry you. This isn't just a performance to further the cause. This is real. I want you, Emily."

The world started to spin. "I need to sit down."

He walked me to a nearby bench and helped me onto it.

"Can we talk here?" I whispered, feeling under the seat for a bug. "I guess I should have already asked that question over by the roses."

"We're safe. They haven't perfected their outdoor wiring yet."

"Excuse me?"

"Our electrician used to work for them—long story. Instead, let's get back to us."

"Okay..."

"Emily, I love you. I know this is all quite sudden, but I also know you and I are truly meant to be together."

"I wish I had access to that crystal ball of yours."

He rubbed my hands as he slipped off the bench and onto the ground, on one knee. "I know I should have done this the right way before, but I...Well, all I can say is that I'm sorry. I also should have known how quickly Lord Winston and the staff would act on our engagement."

I felt his formerly cool hands becoming clammy. "Comfy?" I finally asked.

"No, but I didn't expect to be. This isn't something I take lightly."

"Dell, you're basing a future together on nothing more than a couple of dances and a few dozen horse rides."

"There's much more to it," he said.

"But that's all I have...well, aside from my illness, but I was asleep through most of that."

He didn't laugh at my sorry attempt to lighten the mood with a joke. Instead, he looked into my eyes, clearly struggling for words that seemed to be trapped behind his lips. "Emily, if you marry me—I mean really marry me—I promise I will spend the rest of my life proving to you why you made the right choice." His sincerity was palpable.

"I believe you, Dell, honestly, I just—"

"Trust me." His blue eyes pleaded with mine.

_Well, he did save my life, and he sure is easy on the eyes._ Truth be told, __ I couldn't think of a reason not to trust him—or to fall in love with him, for that matter. "Okay. In that case, do you have something to ask me?"

A smile consumed his face as he straightened his back and kissed my hands. "Emily, would you do me the honor of marrying me?"

"Yes," I said, grinning at the sound of the words I thought he would never spit out.

He stood and pulled me into his arms. The kiss that followed was one I knew I would never forget. Dell's lips were soft and warm and seemed to devour everything in their path as they assisted his tongue in its search for mine. My body tingled in reply, and I grabbed his neck with both hands in an effort to keep from falling backward. There, my fingers found the safety of his long hair, and I eagerly entwined them in those soft locks. Even with the knowledge that we might draw an audience from the house, we continued to embrace far longer than was socially acceptable at that time—or in most other eras.

"We must save something for the honeymoon," I said as I finally attempted to break away.

"My reserves are endless." He then resumed our kiss without much effort.

"Ahem!"

We quickly turned around and found Lord Winston standing just feet from the bench behind us.

"I see you're feeling better, Emily," he said with a grin.

"Yes, Uncle." I straightened my dress.

"Well, Mr. Beringer, you must have the magic touch."

Dell blushed and only offered a handshake for his reply.

"I do understand your enthusiasm, but we must keep up appearances for our staff. We wouldn't want them to fuel any gossip, now would we?"

"No, sir," Dell said.

"Of course not," I added.

"Good. Now, will you be joining us for lunch, Mr. Beringer?"

"If that wouldn' be ta much trouble."

"No trouble at all. I'll inform the staff."

"Thank you kindl'a, sir."

"My pleasure. I suggest you two find a different occupation until lunch is served."

"Yes, sir," Dell said, his manners as endearing and impeccable as that smile of his.

As soon as Lord Winston was several yards away, Dell leaned toward me without making contact. "Are you happy with your decision?"

"Hmm...I'm not sure. I may require further convincing." I pretended to nonchalantly pick a speck of something from my dress.

"Then I suppose I have my work cut out for me."

"Yes, you do. I'm glad you already know that."

He offered me his arm, which I took, slowly sliding my hand along his muscles.

"Nice," I said, admiring his biceps.

"You like?"

"I _love_ ," I said, squeezing his muscles with both hands.

"I have more where that came from." He smiled down at me as we walked through the rose garden.

"I'm looking forward to you proving it."

"Likewise, Miss Winston."

We approached the French doors that led into the house and stepped inside.

* * *

From that point forward, I treated the engagement and wedding plans with all the care and optimism of a genuine bride-to-be. I even created a journal to record the entire process, complete with samples. It became my Bible, of sorts, and I was seldom seen without it. "I'm really getting married," I often said to that journal, cradling it as if it were my first-born.

As a result of all the planning and my actual excitement for the event, the engagement party was a huge success. The evening of the party, Dell and I greeted our guests as they entered the Winston Manor dining room, once again converted into a proper ballroom. He introduced me to his arrivals from the South in much the same way Lord Winston had received the guests at my coming-out ball, later adding their role in his company to their official title. I did the same for those who were somehow affiliated with Evergreen Research, quietly informing Dell of their place in society, according to what Hodges and personal experience had taught me.

Our first guest arrived a full thirty minutes before the others, hurrying into the ballroom as if someone was chasing him.

"Dr. Stanwick! So happ'a you could join us." Dell shook the man's hand with enthusiasm, then directed his attention to me. "And this, doct'a, is my beloved, Miss Winston."

The man locked his beady eyes on mine and firmly clasped my hand in his. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Winston."

"Pleased to meet you as well, Dr. Stanwick." I felt the sudden need to tug my hand to release it from his extended grasp. "Eew!" I cringed at Dell as soon as the good doctor walked away.

"Sorry, Em. He's one of our key sponsors and insisted upon meeting you."

"Lovely." I smiled through my closed teeth at Dr. Stanwick as he shot a glance back in my direction. "I hope he doesn't have super-sonic hearing."

Dell just smiled in reply.

_Great, there's no competing with creepy rich guys from the future._ I continued to smile, while keeping my thoughts to myself.

After the introductions were made and as the evening progressed, most of the single girls in the room fell all over each other in their pursuit of the single Southern gentlemen.

Later, Dell leaned toward me, whispering in the unnaturally thick drawl that he only brought out for such occasions, "Well, darlin', I fear our female guests would swoon dead away if they discover'd that none of our bachelors are as eligible as they appe'a...or are even from the South."

"Then why are they here?"

His accent disappeared as he replied, "Curiosity. Most are sons of sponsors, being groomed to pick up where their fathers will leave off. For many, this is their first time in the past."

"Doesn't that make you nervous?"

"Yes, but the survival of the company depends upon future generations."

"Such as ours?"

"Yes, _especially_ ours." He reached down to pick up my hand and deposited a kiss before returning it to my side.

I didn't get to my room until after three o'clock and spent the rest of the morning hours until the sun rose entering the names and positions of our Southern guests into my Maude journal, followed by the first entry I had written in nearly a month:

Saturday, September 10, 1910

Dear Maude,

Well, I'm getting hitched to Mr. Beringer—Dell. We had our engagement party tonight. I couldn't have imagined a man so perfect for me. I truly adore him. I haven't quite thought through how all this is going to work, but I believe it will. It must. I do hope Mom and Tom get to meet him someday, because I'm sure they'd love him too.

Anyway, the sun is rising, so I had better put my journal away before I fall asleep with it on my lap.

Love,

Emily

# Chapter Twenty-One

**AS SOON AS** the engagement party ended, preparations for the wedding were thrown into overdrive. The dress designer of the day descended upon the manor with a flourish one afternoon as Mrs. Fromm and I were discussing the appetizers that would be served at the reception.

"Oh, another skinny one!" I heard over my shoulder as the designer entered the drawing room. "Charles Wert, as I'm sure you're aware," he said, then impatiently held his hand out in my direction, limply bent at the knuckles.

I slowly turned to face him. "Miss Emily Winston, as I'm sure you're also aware." Then, I grabbed the tips of his highly manicured fingers and gave them such a squeeze that I thought I heard a crack or two before he recoiled in disgust.

He sat petting his fingers for several seconds as I debated whether I should strangle him with the tape measure, draped around his neck like a feather boa, or simply turn on my heels and shout, "Next!" before storming from the room. Of course, I did neither. Instead, I just stood and stared at the slight wisp of a man as he kissed his fingers and proceeded to count them as if one had gone missing.

"We're quite busy here, Mr. Wert," I said, finally drawing him out of his trance.

"Yes, yes, quite right." He stared at my torso for the longest time. "Hmm..." He circled me several times, muttering and pinching the fabric of my dress along the waist and tugging the hemline from behind. "Disrobe," he finally said, then quickly returned to the examination of his hand.

Mrs. Fromm gasped.

"Excuse me?" I looked from Mr. Wert to Mrs. Fromm and back again.

"Well, surely you realize I must take measurements."

"But...disrobe?"

"How else can I measure you properly? One does not create a masterpiece on a canvas without first seeing it." He shot a haughty look in my direction.

"Surely, Mr. Wert, you brought a female assistant who can manage that for you?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Winston, but I can assure you, I take no pleasure whatsoever in gathering measurements of shapeless brides such as you."

Words escaped me as I fought the urge to stare down at myself. I chose, instead, to take a mental inventory of my body that had never been accused of lacking shape before.

"Mr. Wert!" Mrs. Fromm stood at my side. "You will address Miss Winston properly or not at all!"

"You speak out of turn, madam," he said, pursing his lips and jutting his chin at us.

I finally found my voice. "She speaks the truth, Mr. Wert!" I put myself between the two, then added, "Quite frankly, it is you who is speaking out of turn."

"Well, I never!" He backed away in exaggerated disbelief.

Finished with him, I stepped closer and said, "That's correct, sir. You will _never_ take my measurements. You came highly recommended to us by someone of whose judgment I must now question. You are rude and impertinent and have wasted enough of my precious time. Good day, Mr. Wert!" With that, I grabbed the cook by the elbow and turned back to our menu selection.

"Humph!" he said, before storming from the room and slamming the door.

I looked at Mrs. Fromm, and we both burst into uncontrollable laughter that kept us occupied for several minutes.

"I'm so sorry, miss, but—"

"Yes, I know. What a ridiculous little man. Something is most definitely amiss with that one. Surely his behavior is some form of compensation for another, very small part of himself."

We both laughed again before returning to our menu.

Several minutes later, Lord Winston burst through the doorway, red-faced, with steam practically billowing from both ears. "What have you done? You have just sent the best designer away in disgust!"

"He wanted me to disrobe in front of him, Uncle," I said, suppressing a strong urge to resume my laughter at the sight of Lord Winston's display.

"Pardon?"

"Yes, without a female assistant, in the drawing room, right in front of him and Mrs. Fromm."

The cook simply nodded.

Lord Winston stood there, tapping his foot impatiently and gaping in disbelief. "Well, you were quite right in sending him away, I suppose," he finally said. He moved his hand to his chin and began to stroke it thoughtfully. "I shall have to make further inquiries."

"If I may, Your Lordship?" Mrs. Fromm asked.

"Yes?"

"My niece is quite the seamstress and has her own shop in town."

"An original? How lovely that would be! Don't you agree, Uncle?" I said.

"Uh, well, I think—"

"Please?"

He exhaled loudly through his nose. "Invite her in for an interview only, but there are no promises."

Mrs. Fromm beamed. "Oh, thank you, Lord Winston. I will send word this afternoon."

"Very good, but in the meantime, I will make some inquiries of my own." With that, he left the room, grumbling under his breath.

I smiled at the cook. "Does your niece have any drawings or examples of her work?"

"I'll make sure she brings whatever she has when she comes."

"Thank you, Mrs. Fromm!"

"No, thank _you_ , miss. She will be honored to even be considered for such an opportunity."

The cook made arrangements for her niece's interview the following morning. Right on time, Mrs. Fromm brought her into the drawing room, followed by a trunk of dresses one of our footmen wheeled in.

"Miss Winston, please meet my niece, Beatrice Shiverson."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Shiverson."

"'Sorry, miss. It's missus," the cook added.

"Oh, pardon me! _Mrs_. Shiverson, then," I said, correcting myself. "It is a pleasure, and I thank you for coming."

"Pleased to meet you too," the seamstress said shyly, then curtseyed as she shook my hand.

I anxiously looked at the trunk. "Have you brought some of your dresses?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The cook elbowed her and whispered, "Miss."

"I'm sorry. Miss."

"Quite all right," I said, offering a smile to calm her nerves. Then I pointed at the trunk. "May I?"

"Yes, of course." She opened the lid and produced one of the most beautiful dresses I had ever seen. It was a beige silk with a silk tulle overdress, embroidered with gold thread in a beaded, floral pattern.

My hands went to my face as I stood back to examine the gown. "My goodness! Did you design this yourself?"

She proudly looked down at the dress. "Yes, miss."

"What type of dresses do you usually make?"

"Mainly uniforms, miss, but I enjoy making gowns as well."

"Have you ever sold any of your gowns?"

"No, ma'am...er, miss."

I gestured at the remaining dresses. "Are all of these originals?"

"Yes, miss."

"Well, I'd certainly love to see the rest."

She proceeded to pull one dress after the other from the trunk, each more detailed than the previous. Finally, she produced her last dress, an intricately beaded antique white wedding gown that succeeded in making all the others pale in comparison. I was speechless. The detail work on the bodice was painstakingly hand-sewn, amid clear glass beads and pearls that cascaded downward like a chandelier. The skirt was free-flowing, with a train of hand-stitched lace that ran for several feet and ended in a scalloped edge.

"It's an absolute work of art," I finally said, staring in amazement, while running my fingers along the beads.

Mrs. Shiverson looked down at the dress she was holding, as I further examined its beauty. But when I stepped back to admire it from a distance, I was met by the curious gaze of its maker. Tears formed in her eyes as she looked back at me.

"Mrs. Shiverson, have I offended you in any way?"

"No, miss."

"Then why are you near tears?"

Several seconds of silence passed before she said, "Well, I don't know how to say this, miss, but I-I made this dress for someone else."

"Oh, no!" I couldn't hide my disappointment.

"Only...she was never able to wear it."

"Why not?"

"He changed his mind."

"That's horrible. Is she a friend of yours?"

"Uh, yes, I suppose you could say that." She wiped her eyes.

As I watched her hold the dress up to her own body, I realized it would fit her perfectly. "Is this _your_ dress, Mrs. Shiverson?" I asked.

"Yes, miss."

"Oh. In that case, thank you for sharing, but I couldn't possibly choose this one."

"No matter to me, miss. I married another in a different dress. I only kept this one because I didn't have the heart to discard it, and, if I do say so myself, it is much too pretty to just waste away in a trunk. It would be an honor to me if you wore this on your special day."

"Wouldn't it be bad luck?"

"No, I don't think so. It's quite different than the dress I first sewed for myself. I was thinking of putting it in the window of my shop, so I made a few changes. I added more beads and the pearls. I extended the train and added the lace only last month."

"So why the tears, then?"

"It is just...Well, miss, I realized I loved the dress more than the man I was to wed in it. Besides, I get along better with my husband than I ever would have with him. That trip down the aisle wasn't meant for me, but maybe this dress will carry _you_ to the right man."

I wasn't much of a clothes tree, but I sure wanted that dress. It didn't just speak to me; I was certain I could actually hear it singing. "The honor would be mine," I said with a smile, as I continued to admire it.

By the end of the day, I was measured and fitted into all the dresses in the trunk, with plans for several dozen more. They even met with the approval of Lord Winston.

_She's going to be one busy seamstress!_ I __ watched the footman load the trunk back onto our car that was sent to bring Mrs. Shiverson and her inventory to the manor.

* * *

With the dress chosen and many of the other details of the wedding set into motion, I finally had a chance to spend some time with Dell. Our morning riding dates resumed and seemed to be the only time during my day when I was doing something of my own choosing.

"How are the plans progressing?" He turned toward me as we rode on our usual route to the stream.

It took a few minutes for me to formulate a reply that didn't sound like a complaint. In the end, I doubt the effort was a success, but I had to say something to him. "I do believe this wedding is getting bigger than both of us."

"I know, but it will be worth it."

"I wish Mom and Tom could be here."

"I'm sorry."

"Is there any way we can marry in my time too?"

"I can't make any promises."

"No, I suppose not." I struggled to fight the recurring lump in my throat, the one that had been building for months.

"I have a surprise for you," Dell said, quickly changing the subject. "Follow me." He deviated from our usual course and rode to Dunston House.

As we approached the residence, I saw the chauffeur unloading several bags from a car parked out front. It was a little more than two weeks before the wedding, yet several guests had already arrived at both manors. That time, it was Dell's brother, Shane.

We both dismounted as the younger, lighter-haired version of Dell approached our horses. As soon as the brothers were within arm's length, they captured one another in an embrace.

"It's been too long," Dell said.

"It certainly has." Shane patted Dell on the back. "And this must be Miss Winston. Pleased to finally meet you, sis!" He then gave me a hug, followed by a dip that nearly left me impaled by my corset.

"Goodness!" I said when he finally returned me to my feet. I straightened my dress and tried to ignore my embarrassment.

Shane just smiled in return, revealing his own set of straight white teeth.

"You two look nothing alike," I said sarcastically.

He cast me a crooked smile. "Good, then I guess we don't have to worry about you getting us mixed up in the dark."

Before I could react, Dell stood between us, grabbed my hand, and held it firmly in his.

Shane just laughed and looked at the ground as Dell walked me back toward my horse.

"Sorry. I should have warned you. My brother is a bit of a flirt."

"Well, he seems harmless enough." I looked past Dell's shoulder at Shane, who was helping the chauffeur unload his bags.

"Actually, he's far from it."

"Well, you have nothing to worry about." I pulled his head toward mine and planted a long kiss on his lips to emphasize my point.

"Excuse me, you two," Shane said, now standing behind Dell.

"Yes," Dell said without turning around.

"It seems a car is approaching."

We all looked at the chauffer-driven vehicle that was kicking up a plume of dust and gravel behind it as it barreled toward the front entrance.

"Damn!" the brothers said in unison.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"Our cousin, Joel," Dell replied.

I reached for Estelle's reins. "Well, they need to slow down before they scare the horses."

Dell struggled to hold his horse as well. "He's not big on first impressions."

The car came to a noisy, dusty halt just feet before us, causing Shane to rush toward the horses to help us keep them from bolting.

_What a jerk!_ I fought the urge to give both the driver and passenger a piece of my mind.

The chauffer stepped out of the car and opened the door for a burly gentleman dressed in a dark brown suit and carrying a cane. I couldn't help but notice the large pipe protruding from his mouth. He was followed by another man, who was dressed in a black suit and wearing a top hat.

"Who's that?" I asked Dell.

"His brother, Frank."

They both looked around and stretched as the staff quickly arranged themselves along the stairs that led to the front door.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Beringer," the butler said to Joel. "We didn't expect you until this evening."

"Came on the morning train, Jeffries." He walked past the butler and the rest of the staff, straight into the house, without acknowledging us. Frank followed in a similar fashion.

"How rude" __ I looked at Shane. "Don't they see us?"

"Yes and no, apparently."

_Whatever that means!_ Growing impatient, I simply moved on to my next question. "Why did they take the train?"

"They didn't."

"Did you take the, uh... _train_ as well?"

"Of course," Shane said, winking at me.

Enough was enough. "Well, Shane, it was nice meeting you." I extended my hand to him.

"Leaving so soon?" He brushed past my hand to give me a hug.

"Yes. I have appointments to keep." I quickly backed away from his embrace and looked over at Dell, whose eyes were boring holes into the side of his brother's head.

"Shall we?" Dell asked, then assisted me with Estelle and my saddle.

Once I mounted my horse, Dell followed suit, and we both left, heading in the direction of the main road.

"Please excuse their rudeness."

"Which ones?" I asked, as I had already developed a dislike for all of them.

He laughed. "Mostly my cousins."

"Why didn't they acknowledge you and wait to be introduced to me?"

"I'm not entirely certain, but I'm confident I'll find out shortly."

"How long will they be staying?"

"I'm not sure of that either. I'll ride with you to your stables, Emily, but I can't stay this time."

"Oh. Will I see you later?"

"Even if I have to sneak away," he said with a wink.

* * *

Sadly, later came and went without any sign of Dell. In fact, over the course of the next few days, I neither saw nor heard from him.

All the horses were being shoed, bathed, and groomed in preparation for the additional wedding guests who would soon arrive, so even if Dell had shown up to ride, I wouldn't have been able to join him.

Regardless, by the morning of the third day, I was ready to set out on foot if necessary, just to check on my groom-to-be.

"I'm worried, Midge," I said, looking at her in the mirror as she guided and pinned my hair atop my head.

"About what, miss?"

"Mr. Beringer."

She stopped what she was doing and gave my reflection a visual scolding in the mirror. "Well, I'm sure he's doing fine, miss. He's probably just playing host to his out-of-town guests."

"Yes, but—"

Midge tugged slightly on my hair, forcing me to stop before I finished my sentence. I rubbed my head and scowled at her in the mirror, but she just shook her head at me.

Of course, I knew the drill, but I still wished that I didn't have to worry about the room being bugged. "I'm just being silly, I suppose," I said, trying to cover my tracks.

"Wedding jitters, I'm sure, miss." She pulled on a few more stubborn strands, and continued to fix my hair.

"You're probably right."

Many of our wedding gifts had already been delivered and were on display on tables in the drawing room. I had spent the morning writing thank-you letters that would be posted after the wedding. By the afternoon, however, I ran out of distractions, and my concern for Dell was almost overwhelming.

_I could sure use a cell phone at a time like this...or any phone, for that matter. Heck, I'd settle for a carrier pigeon at this point._ I dreamt of my non-existent choices as I stared at the pile of gifts that surrounded me. Although the items would have been considered pricey, precious antiques in my time, I was too miserable to appreciate them.

"Miss Winston?" the butler asked, bringing me back from my thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Lord Winston would like to see you in the library."

"Thank you, Campton."

It would be the first time I had spoken with Lord Winston alone since Dell had told me about his agenda, and I wasn't looking forward to it. I tried to give myself a pep talk as I nervously trudged down the hall to the library. _Play it cool, sister_.

The door was open, so I entered and found Lord Winston facing the windows.

"Uncle?"

"Yes, yes, Emily. Thank you for coming. Please close the door."

I gently pushed it closed and walked over to the window next to him.

"Emily..."

"Yes, Lord Winston?"

"First, I must tell you that I am so very proud of your progress."

"Thank you, sir."

"I know this marriage wasn't anticipated, but you are making the best of it. In fact, you're quite convincing."

"Thank you," I repeated, curious what he was getting at.

"Nevertheless, I have to wonder if it's too much for you. Are you absolutely feeling up to it?"

"Yes, Lord Winston. I was just a little run down before, but I'm doing much better now."

He just stared at me as if I were speaking a foreign language, one he didn't understand. "Oh, yes, quite right," he finally said, then turned back to the window. "I wasn't referring to your illness, although I am glad you are doing better. I meant to ask if you are truly feeling up to going through with this wedding."

I searched my imagination for an appropriate reply. "Well, it's been a bit of a challenge, but I'm treating it as a game, similar to playacting for the theater. As such, I'm managing fine, thank you for asking."

"Hmm, I do not believe I'm making my point clear," he said, again turning to face me. "Emily, dear, are you willing to proceed, knowing the outcome will leave you...shall we say, in a less than virtuous position than the one in which you started?"

I just stared at him, feeling a hot blush creeping into my face. I was mortified and in a state of disbelief, wondering in what universe it was acceptable for the old man in front of me to be discussing my virginity. Still, I held it together enough to say, "Uh, Lord Winston, I appreciate your concern, but I really don't see another alternative at this point."

"That is where you are mistaken, my dear."

"I'm sorry?"

"Mr. Beringer could be involved in...an accident."

"Oh!" I felt my throat tighten.

"We could make arrangements. It's not too late."

"I don't understand. Aren't his connections quite valuable to you?"

"We are still determining the extent of their value. At this time, I must say, it does not seem worth the risk of losing you as an asset."

My blush seemed to drain as I felt the room start to spin, my brain swirling along with it. _Control yourself, girl!_ I reached for the chair behind me. __ "I think I need to sit for a minute, if you don't mind." After a few seconds, I was able to find my composure. "Please excuse me, Lord Winston. I simply never entertained the notion of Mr. Beringer being...murdered."

"No, no, my dear! I'm afraid you misunderstand me. It wouldn't be like that, not like that at all. It would just be...an accident."

_Right, one that would leave him dead!_ I felt an overwhelming urge to flee for my own life and Dell's; instead, I opted to stay and fight for both while I still could. __ "Well, sir, I really have embraced the concept of my role here, and I am willing to part ways with my virtue, as you put it, in order to strengthen the effort." I offered an eager smile, hoping to salvage some piece of Dell's value, however small. "Also, Mr. Beringer is quite charming. I can think of worse assignments."

Lord Winston laughed. "Quite right."

"Besides, from what I've witnessed, married women in your society seem to wield more power and control than the unmarried members of their sex."

Lord Winston turned his attention to the windows again, staring out at the garden with his hands behind his back.

_Great._ It wasn't working. Although I was a horrible liar, I knew Dell's life was at stake, so I resumed my position next to Lord Winston and created the most believable lie I could. "Regardless of Mr. Beringer's worth through his connections, he does have something many other men do not."

"What is that, my dear?" Lord Winston asked, turning his intense eyes on me.

"Wealth and vast amounts of Southern property."

"Excuse me?"

"Just the other day, I learned that his family owns thousands of acres of land somewhere in the South. They even have a fortune in gold and silver stored in a vault there. He just hasn't given me the particulars."

"Hmm" He paused, then said, "I do believe Mr. Beringer's usefulness may have just increased considerably." He nodded, and there was a far-off look in his eyes as he asked, "When can you obtain this information?"

"Probably not before the wedding," I said, hoping to buy Dell some more time, "but I'm sure I will be able to learn many of the details on our honeymoon." I was so absorbed in the tale I was telling that I had hardly paused to breathe. Now, I found myself standing in front of the devil himself, lying and trying not to pass out from lack of oxygen.

"And why didn't you write this in your last report?"

"Well, I wanted to be sure of the details first," I said, struggling to maintain my composure.

"Quite right, but from now on, please report every detail, even if you do not know how they relate or if they are the truth."

_Oh, God! I'm caught! He knows I'm lying!_ I turned away to hide my panic.

Fortunately, Lord Winston seemed to misinterpret my reaction. "Dear, I'm certainly not scolding you. On the contrary, I applaud your efforts and your commitment to the program."

"Oh," I said, exhaling in relief.

He then pulled me into an enormous hug that nearly knocked the shoes right off my feet. "You make me as proud as my own daughter would, if I had one."

"Thank you, sir." But I didn't feel so thankful or proud.

He released me, then withdrew his pipe from his pocket and glanced at me. "Do you have any questions?"

"Uh, no, none at the moment."

"Good, good." He filled his pipe, clearly finished with our conversation.

"Thank you."

"Yes, yes," he said, lost in the search for his lighter.

I exited the room and closed the door softly behind me.

"Miss..." Midge said, standing down the hall, just outside the drawing room.

"Yes?"

"A few more packages just arrived, would you care to view them?"

"Uh..." I said, my mind focused on Dell and a much-needed plan.

"Miss?"

_Don't freak out! Don't freak out!_ I told myself over and over as I __ walked to the drawing room.

"You look pale, miss. Are you all right?"

"Quite," I said, but turned my attention back to the closed library door.

She noticed my gaze and stared intently into my eyes once I again met hers.

" _Get Dell_ ," I mouthed.

"Isn't this lovely?" Her voice was enthusiastic as we entered the drawing room. "We can only wonder what tomorrow may bring." Then she gave me an exaggerated wink.

I nodded, wanting to believe she could actually get Dell to come in the morning. "Thank you, Midge."

"My pleasure, miss."

Tuesday, October 25, 1910

Dear Maude,

Winston wants Dell dead! I'm so freaked out right now that I can hardly stand it. Apparently, he's not as useful to them as they once thought, and they don't want to lose me. I think I talked Lord Winston into going through with the wedding and, hopefully, the honeymoon, but beyond that, I'm not so sure.

Oh, I wish you were here, Maude. You always knew just what to say, and Mom inherited that from you. God, I miss you both. I hope to see Dell tomorrow so that I can warn him. I just hope I actually did buy us the time we need.

Love,

Emily

# Chapter Twenty-Two

**THE NEXT MORNING** , I awakened and bathed before sunrise.

_They must be finished with Estelle by now. If Dell doesn't show up this morning, I'm going to get him myself!_ Deep in thought, __ I pulled the brush through my hair, laid my riding clothes out on the bed, and waited for Midge to arrive.

_I guess it's a good thing she hasn't shown up yet. That must mean she's at Dell's place now. Either way, I can't check and risk getting her into trouble. It's still early. I'll wait another hour, and if she doesn't come, I'm going to tackle the stupid corset myself._ I glared at the evil thing lying on the bed.

Within half an hour, Midge arrived at my door, with a smile on her face. "Good morning, miss, Mr. Beringer and his horse are waiting for you outside."

" _I love you!_ " I mouthed, then stood to give her a big squeeze. "Thank you, Midge."

She quickly helped me into my gear and delivered me, within minutes, to the waiting Mr. Beringer and the stable boy who had brought Estelle to join him.

"Good morning!" I said, the excitement almost bursting from my mouth as I avoided the strong urge to run to Dell. The feeling quickly passed, however, when I noticed his complete lack of enthusiasm.

"Morning." His monotone voice was barely audible above the neighing horses.

I wanted to cry as he looked at the ground, not making eye contact.

The stable boy assisted me onto my horse as Dell remained in the saddle, now staring off into the distance.

After I thanked the boy, we rode to the clearing without any form of conversation.

"Dell?" I finally asked.

"Yes."

"What's going on?"

He answered without looking at me, "I'm sorry. I've just been through hell with my family, and I'm not in the right frame of mind right now."

"What's wrong?"

"What isn't?" he said, gazing off across the meadow. "Let's water the horses, shall we?" He pointed his horse in the direction of the stream.

We rode slowly and dismounted in silence before letting the horses drink their fill.

I tried to hold his hand, but he pulled away. "Talk to me," I said, touching his sleeve.

He looked down at his arm, then at me, fixing his blue eyes on mine. His normally clear eyes were bloodshot, flanked by dark circles and heavy bags. His appearance left a knot in my stomach.

"Dell, what happened?"

"I don't know where to begin."

"How about where you rode with me to the stables and said you'd see me later?"

"Emily, it's not that simple. I'm having trouble finding the words."

"Well, I'm not!" I said, losing patience.

"Does what you have to say have anything to do with Midge coming over to the house this morning?" His calm, almost defeated voice made me feel guilty for raising mine.

"Yes," I almost mumbled.

"Then, why don't _you_ begin?"

I didn't wait for him to change his mind. "Okay, Lord Winston wanted to meet with me yesterday to discuss the wedding. Only he wasn't asking about my dress, the cake, or any of those things." I shook my head. "He doesn't think you are as useful to the program as they previously thought, and they do not want to lose me as an asset."

"Yes, I know," Dell said. "That's why my family is in town."

"Good, because I think I bought us some time."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I lied to Lord Winston. I told him you own property in the South, with gold and silver in a vault somewhere. I promised to discover more information on our honeymoon."

"Emily!"

"At least that puts them off for a while, right?"

"Yes, but what happens after the honeymoon?"

"I don't know. I suppose we'll just run away."

He shook his head. "We can't simply run away."

"Why not?"

"It has to be clean, Emily, with no loose ends. Otherwise, it might attract undue suspicion or adversely affect future events—"

"Then why not just return to the future, to my mom's?" I interrupted.

"We can't hide there. What if someone you went to school with sees you, for example, and somehow Evergreen finds out? Don't underestimate their power or connections."

I thought for a minute. "Okay, then what about _your_ future?"

"No, I can't take you there. You're not ready. Besides, just as with your future, a visit to mine would require ample preparation to avoid making an imprint."

"But, Dell, it's the future. My going there surely can't affect the past."

"No, but going there could jeopardize the future events beyond that time."

"How would you even know about them?" I said, feeling a throbbing headache coming on.

"We do, Emily."

I rubbed my temples, taking a break from my confusion. "Are you saying your company can facilitate time travel into the _distant_ future?"

"Yes."

I tried to piece together the facts as I thought I knew them. "So Evergreen Research is only capable of allowing travel from their current time to the past and back again."

"Yes," he said, nodding.

"Then wouldn't your future be the safest place to hide?"

He reached for my hand. "Not for you. You can't go there."

"I understand that, but Dell, _you_ can go. Then, when it's safe, you can come back and get me."

"Emily, if I travel to my time, we will never see each other again."

I wanted to scream but remained as calm as I could. "Isn't the future set? I mean, all we have to do is get married, right?"

"That was correct before, but...Emily, something's changed."

"What?" I pretended to check my ears to see if I could feel the smoke of my confusion escaping from them.

He pulled my hands from my head and held them. "Our son was never born."

"You mean the one who started the company you work for?"

"Something like that."

I wanted to curl up in a ball. "I don't understand."

"Let me take you to the beginning."

"Good idea."

"Our son wasn't actually the original founder of the company. A man named Johann Holtz was. He was an inventor, engineer, and physicist who befriended such great minds as Nikola Tesla. Holtz created a time machine that could travel to both the past and the future, something that has challenged the minds of quantum physicists for centuries. Holtz made time travel his life's work. You might say he was married to his job. As he grew older, though, he also grew lonely. He missed having a family, so he spent the remaining years of his life creating one."

"What? Like Frankenstein?" I asked, horrified.

"No, sweetheart. Through time travel."

Although I wasn't certain I wanted to hear the answer, I was compelled to ask, "How?"

"He returned to the past, to _his_ past. He met with his younger self and showed him his future without a family."

"And?"

"The younger Holtz didn't like what he saw. Thus, the two traveled throughout time to find the perfect wife for the younger Johann; one who would bear him children and a real future."

I gained new interest. "Did they find her?"

"Yes."

"So what happened?"

"I don't know yet." He made a point of making eye contact. "She has a choice to make."

I looked away, staring at the stream, dumbfounded. "You're the younger Johann Holtz?" I asked.

"I am."

"This is a bit much, Dell or Johann or whatever your name is." I continued to focus my attention on the stream, hoping the movement of the water would help me make sense of it all. It took several minutes for me to fully absorb our conversation, and then I asked, "Why did you tell me our son founded the company?"

"Because he represents the reason for its founding. The company was created to carry on the life's work of my older self. Who better to do that than our son?"

"Wouldn't a daughter have worked just as well?"

"Emily, you misunderstand. We have a son first. That's just a fact. I'm not being sexist."

I felt and sounded defeated. "I guess I'll have to trust your crystal ball on that one."

Dell offered a weak smile. "Please don't be that way, sweetheart. I stand before you now, eager to answer the other dozen questions you must have for me."

"Two dozen, actually," I corrected.

He laughed. "My mistake. Please proceed."

"Okay, when I was sick, you mentioned that your research didn't include me because I am a wild card. I still don't understand why you didn't already know who I was."

"Identifying other time travelers is the most difficult part of our job."

"Why?"

"Because you come out of the blue. After I discovered that you were working for Evergreen, I spent several years of painstaking research to find out your true identity."

"Years?"

He tried not to laugh. "We've met before, you know."

"Really?"

"Yes. Remember the toothless gardener who picked you up from the airport and delivered you in a cart to Winston Manor?"

"Old Fred? No way!" I fixed my attention on his front teeth. _Impossible!_

"Yesh, I wore quite the dishguishe," he said. "I was also your second-grade teacher."

"Mr. Johannsen?" I met his eyes, no longer interested in his dental work.

"Indeed."

"I always had a crush on him. Your hair was longer then, though."

"And blonder."

I stared at his hair. "Wow! You're right." I just stood there for several minutes, shaking my head as my poor brain struggled to absorb Dell's words. When I was finally able to speak again, I said, "Okay, my next question. If you go to your future or disappear, as I had hoped _we_ could, does something happen to me when you're gone?"

"Yes." He hesitated before continuing, "You marry another and have his child when you should be carrying mine."

Somehow, my mouth kept moving in an effort to gain further understanding. "Along with being an unpleasant prospect for me, I have to think those events wouldn't work well with your ideal future either."

"You're correct. Aside from losing you to another man, I will have no guarantee of descendants to assist in creating the technology that will carry on my program. As a result, I could become trapped in the future if I travel there."

"Okay, so what are our options?"

"Well, that is what we have been debating. My family and I vastly differ on our opinions in that matter, but ultimately, the choice has to be yours and yours alone."

"Okay..." I was still unclear of my choices.

"If I disappear after the honeymoon, they will have me declared dead, and another husband will be chosen for you."

"What if I hold out for my four years to be complete, and just return to my time with you?" I asked.

"They will never allow that. You're more useful married than single."

"Great. I think I just convinced Lord Winston of that yesterday." I paused to ponder the notion before saying, "I know what to do. I just won't get pregnant."

"Your husband is—shall we say...forceful."

"Eew!" I cringed.

"I'm sorry."

Although having a baby wasn't my ideal solution, apparently it was everyone else's. "What if you remain nearby, in disguise, and I get pregnant by you?"

"Too risky," he said, shaking his head.

_Phew! No baby!_ However, my feeling of relief was short-lived.

"Ultimately, under this plan, you have another man's child and return to your mother once your four years have been served."

"Wonderful," I said sarcastically. "And the other plan?"

"We lead everyone to believe we are involved in a fatal accident during our honeymoon."

"Okay. Then what?"

"We simply...hide in history," he quickly added.

"Excuse me?" I felt my friend the headache looming.

"We travel to another part of the country or even the world, to sometime in the future that we determine to be safe."

"Didn't I suggest something similar earlier?" I asked.

Dell shook his head. "You mentioned running away. This plan is much more complicated."

"Okay, fine. What then?"

"We wait it out."

"For how long? The remainder of my four years?" I asked.

"Sweetheart, with this plan, you...die," he said gently.

"But, I'll be able to see my mom and Tom, right?"

"Not until we can determine that it's safe for everyone. Our deaths might seem suspicious to Evergreen Research. Your mother will be closely watched."

"Oh my God!" I covered my mouth with both hands.

"Our people can protect her, Em, but we won't be able to visit—not until our complete safety can be ensured."

"But you don't know when or if that will happen?" I asked, my voice was muffled from beneath my hands.

"No, not at this time." He gently pulled my hands from my face and let them fall to my sides.

"Great. So with the first plan, I get to see my mom, probably with a baby by some guy who raped me, and you go on to live life without me or our son in an uncertain future."

"Yes." Dell nodded.

"With the second option, our son is born, guaranteeing your future, but I may never see Mom and Tom again."

He nodded again.

"Is there a third choice?"

"Sorry."

I wanted to cry but worked through it by asking another question, "Isn't this choice thing against your company policy?"

Dell didn't even need to speak, the confused look on his face said it all.

To save him from wasting his breath on any questions, I said, "Getting back to the wild card notion, I thought you also said I only influence events but don't change them. Couldn't my having a choice change things?"

Dell smiled. "Now you understand the dilemma my family was having. Lord Winston's desire for my untimely death is really what has led us to reconsider things. _He_ is responsible for changing events, not you. We must respond in a manner that allows history, the true history, to occur as naturally as possible, in a way that is also fair to you. Emily, I fought very hard for you to have a chance to make this decision yourself."

"Thank you, but why?"

"Because if you choose the second plan, it will mean you truly desire to spend the rest of your life with me. Divorce or separation will never be an option."

His words made the reality of my situation and the importance of the choice I needed to make instantly clear. I had to turn away from his sad eyes. I couldn't think while peering into those perfect pools. _I love Mom and Tom, but I love Dell too. What kind of choice is this, anyway? No matter what I do, I lose somebody._ Then, all my confusion and insecurities seemed to travel from my thoughts to my mouth, without obstruction. "Dell?" I finally asked.

"Yes?"

"I still don't understand why you told me."

He shook his head. "Now, _I_ don't understand."

"Well, you could have waited until we were on our honeymoon, drugged me in my sleep, taken me to a lab somewhere, created our child in a test tube, and kept me in a coma for nine months while I incubated our son."

His laughter made the horses jump and scared the birds from the surrounding trees. "Oh, Emily, I do love you!" he said, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Well, it's true," I said flatly, unable to find the humor in the situation.

"Yes, but please don't give my family any ideas with that brilliant mind of yours."

"I'm not trying to be funny, Dell. I really mean it. Why are you giving me a choice?"

He cleared his throat, as well as the smile from his face. "Because I love you. Because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Because you're not just an asset to me, Emily. You're my love and my life. Without you, my life is irrelevant."

I was speechless.

"Your happiness means everything to me. I know I'm asking a lot of you here, and I want you to be absolutely certain of your decision. I couldn't bear to live with myself if you were to regret sacrificing your life and happiness for me."

I reached for his hand, grabbed it, and wouldn't let go. His sad eyes had returned, making him look even more of a mess than he did earlier. That time, I didn't look away. "Can you guarantee that Mom and Tom will be protected?" I asked.

"They already are." He rubbed the back of my hand with his thumb.

"I love you."

"I love you too." But a look of uncertainty clouded his eyes.

"I don't see this as just my future or yours," I said. "I see this as _our_ future, and if we need to hide in history to protect our son, then that's what we'll do."

Dell fell to his knees, possibly from exhaustion but more likely out of relief. He hugged me tightly to him.

I ran my fingers through his hair as he continued to kneel in front of me.

"Thank you," he said, finally looking up at me.

"No, thank _you_ ...for choosing me."

"The choice was clear." He showed me a few of his teeth in a tired-looking grin.

"You look as if you haven't slept in a while."

"You've no idea." He buried his head in my riding jacket.

Then a thought crossed my mind. "Has it been more than three days since you saw me last?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Months."

"I'm so sorry, Dell." I moved my fingers like a comb through his soft hair as he held me close.

"Me too."

"Are you back for a while? Can you sleep now?"

He nodded.

"Well, in that case, we should head back." I slowly untangled my fingers from his hair.

He stood and brushed off his knees. "Let's just skip the wedding and have the accident sooner."

I smiled. "Won't that create even more suspicion?"

"It might, but the honeymoon will be worth it."

I slapped him on the shoulder as he pulled me into his arms.

"Do you still wish to marry me?" he asked, planting kisses all over my forehead, and making it impossible for me to say no.

"Only if your horrible cousins go back to where they came from."

"Consider it done." He kissed my cheek. "Besides, they're not actually my cousins."

"I was hoping they weren't, but who are they?"

"Our great-grandsons." He stopped to see the expression on my face and laughed when my mouth fell open.

_Nice._ "Why didn't they acknowledge us then?" I finally asked.

"They weren't fully here. They were traveling in a sort of hologram-like state. We could see each other, but they tried to conserve energy by keeping their communication to a minimum."

"Why were they only holograms?"

"Without the birth of our son, they didn't really exist. Only their holograms could linger for a while. They spent their remaining energy to assist me with a solution."

"So let me see if I understand this correctly. They were only here because Lord Winston had you murdered at some point, probably after our wedding, which meant that our son, their grandfather, was never born. They came to warn you and also save themselves. Now, they're gone?"

"Yes."

"Okay..." I said. Science wasn't my strongest subject in school, so I felt like putting my fingers in my ears and singing, " _La-la-la_ ," followed by asking, "Is it over yet?" Instead, I turned my head and planted my ear against Dell's chest, listening to the calming heartbeat through his riding jacket.

"Are we done here, sweetheart?" Dell asked.

"Yep." I smiled, enjoying the security of his warm chest.

"Good. I could use some sleep."

"Yes, you could." I pulled away from him and climbed onto my horse. "By the way, who is Shane?"

"Oh, him." He laughed. "He's me when I was twenty-five."

I shook my head in disbelief. "How many of you are there?"

"Just three...for now."

"Just!" I laughed. "Why is he here?"

"I'll need him after the wedding, to tidy up any loose ends. He's the only one I trust."

"Will he be safe?"

"Yes."

As we entered the meadow, I began to laugh again.

"What's so funny?"

"You were naughty at Shane's age."

"I'm only naughty with you!" He gave me the same crooked smile Shane had given me.

We rode a little further before I started to giggle some more. "How can you be jealous of yourself?"

"I wasn't." He tried to laugh, too, but it sounded forced.

"You most certainly were!"

"I most certainly was not!" he said, his tone like that of a chocolate-faced child denying a trip to the cookie jar.

"Oh, brother. You so were!"

"I was not!" But he started to blush.

"Oh, just admit it!"

"Admit what?" He turned to look the other direction.

I tried to sound angry. "Brat!"

We made it within several yards of the manor, still exchanging comments regarding his jealousy.

"I love you," he finally said.

"Which one of you loves me? Dell, Shane, or Johann?"

He sent a tired smile my way. "It's not nice to tease an exhausted fiancé."

"I love you too," I said, blowing him a kiss.

"Bye, Em." He turned his horse in the direction of Dunston House.

"Bye. See you tomorrow?"

"Yes...and I mean it this time."

Wednesday, October 26, 1910

Dear Maude,

I hadn't seen Dell in days, until this morning. I've been worried about him, but seeing him didn't ease my mind much. He looked horrible.

He told me that my plan to buy him time isn't really going to work after all. Lord Winston will succeed in his attempt to kill him soon, or at least that's one version of the future. Dell found out about his death when his family from the future arrived to warn him that our son was never born. Only, if our son was never born, neither were his relatives. They're our great-grandsons, if you can believe it. I realize this all sounds crazy, and I don't understand most of the science behind it, but somehow, they produced enough energy to appear in hologram form. They had just enough time to warn Dell and discuss possible solutions before they disappeared. Unfortunately, I'm the solution. Great, huh? No pressure there.

Anyway, I can't say much right now. I'll write more later.

Love,

Emily

# Chapter Twenty-Three

**DELL KEPT HIS** promise. With the exception of our wedding day, he arrived each morning at seven sharp to accompany me on our ride around the Winston estate. I could once again set my clock by him. The morning before our wedding began in the same way, only with each of us having a bad case of the nerves. We were lost in our own thoughts until we had almost reached the stream.

"Are you happy?" he finally asked.

It was a topic I had successfully avoided since I left Oregon, but on that morning, his innocent question made me realize just how unhappy I really was. As soon as the words left his mouth, I wished he hadn't asked. I tried to compose myself before answering, fighting the sadness I had attempted to hide the previous few days, a sadness only my mom could cure. "Yes, very," I said, with less enthusiasm than I should have.

"We don't have to do this, you know," Dell said. "I could leave a note, regarding cold feet."

I stopped my horse short. "Then I would have to search through all of space and time to find you, and when I did, I'd wring your neck for leaving me behind!"

"Oh, sweetheart, I was only joking."

"Well, I wasn't!"

Dell dismounted, took the reins of both horses, and walked them to the stream. He then reached up and grabbed me by the waist, forcing me to dismount into his waiting arms. "I do love you, Emily."

"I love you too." I said, in a tone as weak as I felt.

"What's wrong?"

"I miss my mom." I tried to keep my lip from trembling.

"I know she should be here, and I wish she could; however, that just isn't something we can arrange."

"I understand." I felt the warm tears flowing down my face. "But I still miss her. Have you heard anything yet about whether we can see her?"

"No. Unfortunately, everyone who will be working on that has arrived for the wedding."

"It's so unfair," I proceeded to whisper, unable to control my blubbering lip. "You're allowed to have everyone around you, and I have no one."

"You have me."

"Weren't you going to write a note or something?"

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I don't have cold anything...Well, perhaps that isn't completely accurate, but it's nothing the honeymoon won't cure." He tightened his grip on my arms in anticipation of my right one smacking him somewhere, anywhere I could.

"I hate you," I blubbered, failing to land even a playful swat.

"Now, is that any way to speak to the man of your dreams?"

"My nightmares, maybe." I tried to wipe my nose.

He released my arms and offered me a handkerchief. "Here."

"Thanks." I took the hanky and used it to whip him several times across the chest before using it for its intended purpose.

"Better?" he asked after several minutes.

I tucked the hanky up my sleeve. "Jerk."

"I will never leave you."

I looked into his eyes and saw only sincerity staring back at me. "Thank you."

"I mean it, Emily. I will never leave you, and I'm truly sorry about your mother. I will do everything I can to arrange for you to see her—everything."

"Thank you. That means a lot to me."

"Well, _you_ mean a lot to _me_." He wiped away the remaining tears from my cheeks. "Let's have fun tomorrow, shall we?"

I nodded. "Everyone has put so much effort into it. I don't think it will be possible to have a bad time. I'm really looking forward to it."

"Good, and just to let you know, my people are working on our escape."

"Really? What are they doing?"

"I can't tell you, but there are some pretty heavy hitters staying at Dunston House right now. I'll be in meetings for the rest of the day to work out some of the details."

"Okay, but I hope you'll have it all worked out before the honeymoon. I mean, we won't have any company, will we?"

He stared at me as if I had just crawled out from under a rock.

"Seriously!" I met his unchanged expression.

"No, Em, they won't be accompanying us."

"But you don't even know the details. How can you possibly figure everything out in time?"

"Sweetheart, have you forgotten that the company is mine?"

"But—"

He put his fingers up to my lips. "That's Shane's job. He can tidy up what needs tidying in our absence."

"Doesn't he own the company too?" I asked sarcastically.

"You're impossible, you know that?" He grabbed me by the waist and spun me around several inches in the air.

"Corset!" I reminded him.

He gently replaced my feet on the ground, smiling down at me.

"I hope I don't get the giggles when they pronounce us man and wife," I said.

"Why would you?"

"Because neither of us are using our real names."

"We won't after the honeymoon either."

"What do you mean?"

"We'll be dead," he said, "and our new lives will require new names."

"Ooh! Can I pick?" I asked

"Sorry, but our researchers must do that for us."

I sighed in frustration. "Can I at least keep my first name? I kind of like being Emily."

"I'll put in your request," he said, then playfully rolled his eyes.

"As long as it's not too much trouble..." I smiled up at him and gave him a sock in the arm.

"Ow!" He rubbed himself. "That, my love, cannot be tolerated and will certainly require some form of punishment." He grinned, pulling me close to his chest.

"I'm so scared." I locked my fingers behind his neck. "Punish me."

He sought the assistance of his lips and tongue to inflict unforgettable punishment on me, before finally pulling away.

"I don't think I've learned my lesson, Dell. Perhaps you should try again."

"I would like nothing more, Em, but I must get back to my meetings."

"Can't Shane handle it?" I asked, then easily pulled him into another round of punishment.

Several minutes later, Dell gave me a kiss on the cheek and whispered in my ear, "I really must go this time."

"Me too," I said, reluctantly releasing my grip on him.

He helped me onto my horse. "What are your plans for today?" he asked.

"Writing thank-you notes, a final dress fitting, more thank-you's, practicing social cues regarding putting on the performance of a lifetime, even more thank-you's... You know, the usual." I smiled as he leaned across his horse to give me another kiss, a quick one due to my corset pinching me again. _Ouch! Stupid thing!_ "By the way, I have another request for your researchers."

"What's that?"

"I want to live in a time without corsets."

He chuckled. "Of all the things you could ask for, in all the archives of time, _that_ is your request? A corset-less society?"

"Yes," I said, casting a serious look.

He couldn't contain his amusement. "You really don't care where we end up, as long as there are no corsets?"

"Exactly."

He just shook his head and laughed. "I really am a lucky man."

"Yes, you are." I smiled, kicking Estelle in the sides to get a head start back to the stables. Even with our best effort, Dell beat us there.

"Bye, sweetheart!" he said, remaining on his horse. "See you tomorrow."

"Bye!" I quickly dismounted, blew him a kiss from the ground, and watched him ride away. _Nice butt!_ As I stared and drooled internally, I absently handed the reins to the stable boy who had assisted me off Estelle.

* * *

The next morning came earlier than I expected. By five o'clock, the house seemed like the epicenter of a giant quake that shook the very foundation of Winston Manor. The staff bustled around the place, following countless orders by the housekeeper and butler, who kept them on task in a frenzy of last-minute preparations.

The reception was planned for the dining room at one that afternoon, and the staff had to standby, anxiously awaiting the last houseguest to finish breakfast, before they could clear the room and set it up for the event.

I didn't have an appetite, so I chose to skip the morning meal entirely and enjoy a long, steamy bath instead.

"Shall we?" Midge interrupted my soak, standing next to the tub and holding out a large towel for me.

"Really?"

"We're already behind, miss."

I reluctantly pulled the plug and climbed out of the tub, into the waiting towel.

I spent the next two hours being dressed and fawned over like a princess. I didn't mind it much, aside from my new and unbelievably uncomfortable wedding corset. As Midge was putting the finishing touches on my hair, which she had piled onto my head with combs and curls, Lord Winston presented himself for the first time that day.

"Simply breathtaking!" he said, his voice filling the room as he entered.

I smiled at him from my seat at the dressing table. "Thank you, Uncle."

"Please leave us for a few minutes," Lord Winston said to Midge and the other housemaids who were helping me. As soon as they were gone, he hurried to my side and extended his hand to mine, helping me to my feet. "You look...I'm speechless."

I really didn't look too bad. The extremely talented Mrs. Shiverson tailored my dress to fit me like a glove. She also added some matching satin ribbon around the waist and created a lace veil with beadwork and pearls that matched the bodice. It was finished with the same scalloped hem as the train.

"I brought you something." He handed me a gold-trimmed rosewood box.

I hesitated before finally taking it. "Thank you." I simply gripped the box that resembled a small treasure chest, unsure of what it might hold.

"Go on, dear. Open it," he said in impatient anticipation.

I slowly tilted the lid back and could only stare at the open box, speechless and afraid to touch its contents. Inside, a tiara lay on a bed of black velvet, its platinum frame covered with more diamonds than most jewelry stores keep in their entire inventory. "For me?" I finally asked.

He looked down at the box. "Yes, it was my dear, late wife's."

"Oh, but I couldn't possibly—"

"Just something borrowed," he interrupted, still staring at the box.

I nodded, relieved to hear it wasn't an actual gift, one I would be uncomfortable receiving. "It will be an honor to wear it. Midge can assist me." I placed the box and its contents on the dressing table, then smiled up at him. "How thoughtful. Thank you, Lord Winston."

"My pleasure, dear. You're the closest thing I have to a daughter, and I'm so very proud of you," he said, struggling through his now raspy voice.

I reached out to touch his hand and felt him squeeze mine in return.

He kissed me on the cheek and suddenly turned and exited the room.

I stared after him in amazement. _Wow, I think he's being genuine, or was that just a genuinely great performance? Either way, it was convincing._

I turned back to my dressing table and the diamond-encrusted headpiece that loomed in front of me like a beacon on a shoal. As I looked at it, I wondered which of the gems hid or contained a bug. __ I carefully removed it from the box to admire it from all angles. _Maybe this one?_ I touched a large diamond at the center of the piece.

Midge returned while I was still examining it. _"Bugged?"_ she mouthed.

I nodded in reply, then, to avoid creating a suspicious silence in the room, I quickly asked, "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Quite lovely, miss. Let me help you put it on."

I sat and faced the dressing table mirror. "Thank you so much, Midge."

She finally maneuvered the tiara into a permanent position after struggling for several minutes. "How's that?"

"Well done," I said, admiring myself in the mirror, surprised at how perfectly the piece fit with my hair and veil.

Midge paused to smile at my reflection. "Quite extraordinary." She shook her head and pulled a hanky from beneath the fabric at her wrist.

"Don't you start!" I scolded her.

"Sorry, miss." She sniffed and returned the hanky to its home. "Now for your wedding slippers." She quickly retrieved them from across the room and returned to my side.

I turned in my chair so she could put them on me, and then I stood to scrutinize myself in the wardrobe mirror. _Wow, this is beautiful._ _I hope someone takes my picture._

We spent the next hour doing just that, along with my three bridesmaids, supposed cousins from Chicago who were chosen for me from the program. They were fresh off the boat, so to speak, and they seemed to be having trouble adjusting to their surroundings.

"Act natural," I kept reminding them, but they just stood, stiff-faced and nervous, whenever the photographer requested various poses from us. _Was I ever that bad?_ I stared at their pale, expressionless faces. _I hope they can handle the pressure!_

By eleven o'clock, the photographs were all taken, and we were herded like overdressed cattle toward the front door, to make our departure for the church. My dress took up most of one side of the closed, horse-drawn carriage that awaited us, so the bridesmaids were forced to squeeze in together on the other side. Fortunately, the day was warm enough that we didn't require warmer clothing; regardless, I could hear the girls' teeth chattering as we pulled away from the manor.

"Are you girls nervous?" I asked an obvious question to break the ice.

"Yes, ma'am. We sure are," the blonde one said.

_Ma'am? God, I feel old_. "What's your name?" I asked her.

"Susannah."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, cousin," I said, extending my gloved hand.

She shook it, wearing a nervous smile and a slight blush that consumed her pale features.

"And you?" I asked the thin-lipped girl with the light brown hair next to her.

"Mary."

"Nice to meet you, too, Mary."

"I'm Anna," the final girl said, her dark hair bounced as she shook my hand across the carriage.

"Nice to meet you, as well, Anna. You'll all do just fine." I tried to reassure them.

"I hope I don't say anything wrong," Anna said with a nervous laugh.

"Well, when in doubt, refer to your training."

"You're our hero, you know," Anna said.

"I am? How so?"

"You're the example we're all trained to follow."

"You're joking!" I couldn't decide whether to laugh or scold her, so I did neither.

"You were the first," Mary interrupted.

"Excuse me?" _Who are these crazy girls?_

"You were the first young woman they allowed in open society," Mary continued. "Now that you're getting married, they need others to come along after you. This wedding is our final test. We're all hoping to be placed in one of the manor houses, as you were."

"Maybe even Winston Manor," Susannah said breathlessly.

"Yes," Anna and Mary said in unison, nodding.

"Well, I'm excited for you." I tried to fake a smile as I digested the fact that I was more of a guinea pig than I thought. I looked across the carriage at the three nervous, yet eager girls sitting opposite me. _Better you than me._

The towns' people lined the streets and cheered as our carriage slowly traveled to the church.

"I didn't expect all this," Anna said, waving at the crowd.

_Social Etiquette, Section 35, Page 287!_ I let my sarcastic thoughts occupy my nervous mind for the rest of the trip.

Once we arrived at the church, the bridesmaids exited, freeing space for me and my dress to find our way out the door. It was quite a feat to escape from the carriage and have my dress straightened and train fanned out by my attendants, but we managed.

Unfortunately, the three girls quickly entered the church and left me to navigate the front stairs alone. I stood at the base for several seconds, formulating a game plan that would allow me to ascend the steps without becoming tangled in either my dress or my train. The cheering crowd didn't help my concentration any.

Lord Winston, who was waiting just inside the church, witnessed my distress and crossed the entrance, red-faced, toward the three nervous bridesmaids who were standing in a huddle.

All three immediately descended the stairs of the church toward me, and poor Mary nearly tripped down them in the process.

"Remember where you are," I said, with a cautious smile plastered on my face.

"Oh God." Anna reached my side and froze, staring at the crowd like a deer in the headlights.

"Girl," I whispered to Anna, "blow this for me, and you'll blow it even worse for yourself." I then whispered to all three, "Approach this as if your lives depend upon it." _Because they do_ , I said to myself, unable to say more because of my bugged tiara.

Regardless, that last line seemed to do the trick, because immediately, Anna and Susannah stepped behind me, and each took one side of my train, while Mary straightened out my dress in the front, then joined the other two. When they were finished, I took a deep breath and smiled as we ascended the stairs.

Lord Winston had resumed his place inside the entrance and beamed proudly when I joined him. "At least I chose wisely with you," he whispered, scowling at the other three girls.

"Oh, they'll be just fine!" I smiled warmly at him. "Just give them time."

He coughed, sounding gruff. "One way or the other, my dear."

_Poor things_. _I hope they don't end up like Sophia._

My trip down the aisle was almost dream-like. Lord Winston led me toward Dell beneath red rose-covered arches that lined the white-carpeted path. It was much more beautiful than I could have ever imagined, so much so that I wanted to cry. Instead, I tried to absorb the scene into my mind, taking mental photographs as I walked, so I could describe it to Mom when I saw her again. The guests on both sides smiled at me as I passed. I smiled in reply, knowing that the bride's side knew nothing of the true identity of the groom's.

Just in front of the altar stood my soon-to-be husband, next to his younger self, surrounded by two others who might have been my great-great-grandsons for all I knew, because of the strong resemblance they bore to the other two.

_Oh, the irony_!

At that sight, had my nerves been steadier, I might have developed a case of the giggles that would have left me in a heap of pearls and lace on the church floor. Fortunately, I was too nervous to be amused. I also found it increasingly difficult to take my eyes off of Dell, who stood smiling in a suit that fit him and his muscles perfectly, as if it had been stitched on. Again, I fought the welling tears that so wanted to fall down my face in warm, embarrassing streams, only to drip off my chin onto the beads of my dress. Somehow, I kept my composure as Lord Winston kissed my hand and offered it to Dell.

He took it gently as we turned to face the pastor. "You look amazing," Dell leaned to me and whispered.

The lump in my throat was so unbearable, that I could only squeeze his hand, before turning my attention back to the pastor.

"Dearly beloved..."

The ceremony was full and boring at times, and I tried not to daydream through the important parts. With the vows and rings finally exchanged and my veil lifted for our fairly uneventful kiss, Dell and I turned to face the crowd as the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Wendell Beringer.

I smiled and chuckled at the sound of our name."

"Stop," he whispered. Then he kissed me on the cheek.

The guests clapped as we walked down the aisle toward the exit, and the crowd outside cheered when we set foot at the top of the stairs.

Once we were safely in our carriage and well outside the vision of those within the town, Dell held my face in his hands and gave me a kiss that could never be described as uneventful. It certainly made up for the church- and era-appropriate one he had given previously.

Soon, his lips left mine and worked their way to my neck. "Oh, Em," he whispered between kisses.

"Oh, Dell," I said, then casually pointed to my headpiece.

_"Bug?"_ he mouthed, suddenly serious.

_"I think so,"_ I said and nodded in reply.

We both straightened our clothes and returned to the proper places in our seats, just in case.

"Wasn't that a grand wedding?" I held his hand and played with his fingers in my gloved hand.

"Yes, quite." He traced the route of one of my strands of pearls up the front of my dress with the index finger of his free hand.

Fortunately, we arrived at Winston Manor just in time to save ourselves from each other.

* * *

The reception turned out to be another edition of _Who's Really Who?_ , the game __ I had played on so many similar occasions. Thanks to the Maude journal, I was fairly well-informed of the guests and their real identities. Therefore, aside from needing to keep my conversations with Dell superficial for the sake of the bug in the tiara, I was actually able to spend the evening enjoying myself instead of worrying about names.

My supposed cousins, on the other hand, didn't seem to be worried enough. While I was deep in a less-than-lively conversation with one of the local estate owners, I noticed Mary trying to sneak away with the son of a very high-level Evergreen sponsor. _Poor thing_. S _he must have tried the champagne!_

Lord Winston also took notice and followed the two into the hallway. He and the young man returned minutes later, but Mary did not.

I felt sick, but hoped for the best. By early afternoon, however, the other two girls were also missing, and I was dying of curiosity and concern. I had no choice but to ask Lord Winston, "Where are my cousins?"

"They're not your cousins," he replied. "They broke the mold with you." He then walked over to a guest who was trying to get his attention.

_All for a scholarship_. I shook my head, feeling bad for the girls.

With the last of the guests safely on their way, Dell and I stood in the empty dining room, dancing to the memory of music that had finished hours earlier.

"Shall we, Mrs. Beringer?" he asked with a smile.

"We shall, Mr. Beringer," I replied.

Midge was waiting for me in the hallway, ready to escort me to my room. She spent the next hour helping me out of my wedding dress and into my going away outfit.

"Is everything packed?" I asked.

"I believe so, miss."

I looked around the room and noticed that the Maude suitcase was still on top of my wardrobe. "I'll need that as well." I pointed to the suitcase.

"Oh! My apologies. I hadn't noticed." She moved a chair over and climbed it to retrieve the case for me, then added it to my stack of trunks the footman had loaded onto a cart.

I checked the bathroom, wardrobe, and drawers to see if anything remained. My belongings had all been packed in the trunks that were being transported to Dunston House. "Thank you, Midge, for everything," I said and gave her a hug.

"You too, miss." She successfully pulled her hanky from beneath the cuff of her sleeve and made good use of it.

I tried to act as if she wasn't sniffing and blowing her nose in front of me. "Will you be staying here or going with me to Dunston House?" I asked, hoping she could get away from Lord Winston.

"I'll be at Dunston House by the time you return from your honeymoon." Her ongoing tears made it clear that she already knew of our real plans.

I reached for my hanky also. "I'm glad." But I knew there was a good chance I might never see her again.

We hugged again, until we were interrupted by Lord Winston, who stood at the open doorway. "Excuse me, ladies," he said.

"Of course." Midge wiped her nose and tear-stained face.

Lord Winston walked into the room as I was also making use of my hanky. "Women," he said in mock disgust, rolling his eyes. He then reached out to touch my free hand.

I tried to smile. "Thank you for a lovely wedding."

"My pleasure, dear."

"Thank you, too, for allowing me to wear Lady Winston's tiara." I handed him the box. "It was such an honor."

"You looked beautiful in it, as radiant as my wife did." He gave the box to Midge. "Please have Campton put this away for me."

"Of course, sir." she said, then left the room.

He returned his attention to me. "And you're quite all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

He lowered his voice. "Because there's still time."

"No, no, I'm willing to move forward."

"Very good, but if you feel in any danger whatsoever or need to return from your honeymoon early, please telegram us immediately."

"I will, but he's not a dangerous man...is he?" I asked and pretended to look worried.

"Oh, no, no, I'm just being overly protective."

"So sweet." But I knew he wasn't. In fact, he would just as easily throw me under the first available bus—or carriage—just to protect his own interests.

Lord Winston smiled and offered his arm, which I accepted. Then he escorted me downstairs to Dell, who was waiting in the drawing room.

"Darlin'!" He reached for my hands, which Lord Winston released into his care. Then Dell kissed me on the cheek. "Anoth'a lovel'a dress."

I just smiled at how easily he could transition from 2125 to 1910, Southern accent and all. _God, I love you_.

"She's all yours," Lord Winston said, as if he were loaning out his favorite hunting dog.

The two shook hands.

"Thank you, Lord Winston, sir. I will take good care of her."

"You had better" Lord Winston said, almost sneering at Dell.

I moved to give my fake uncle a kiss on the cheek and was pulled into an unexpected bear hug.

"Make us proud," he said and kissed me on the forehead.

I felt weak at the knees. _I wish I didn't hate you_ , _or I might actually miss you._ I nodded to clear my thoughts and said, "I will, Uncle."

Dell's car was waiting for us outside the front entrance. I waved at Lord Winston and the staff who had assembled to see us off. As we drove away, all but Lord Winston waved in return. For whatever sentimental reason, I cried all the way to Dunston House.

Once we turned off the main road, Dell reached over to hold my hand. "Very convincing."

"I don't usually cry this much," I said between sobs.

"Right." He sarcastically patted my leg.

I laughed and used my wet hanky to soak up my new set of tears. Then, before we reached the house, I tapped Dell on the knee. _"What about bugs?"_ I mouthed.

"Oh, that's not a problem here. We have a sophisticated system of scrambling devices throughout the estate. It renders their bugs useless. Once we're inside the house, however, we will turn off the scrambler. We don't want them to become too suspicious."

"And our honeymoon?"

"Bugless. They already know their technology isn't sophisticated enough for that. I doubt if it can even reach inside Dunston House, but we don't want to take any chances."

"Good."

We drove around to the carriage house, where two men opened the enormous doors that led inside. Dell drove in and turned the engine off, and the two men closed and locked the doors from the outside.

The last time I had been through those doors, Dell had just rescued me from my ill-conceived bout with typhoid fever. I looked at Dell, who held my hand as the floor beneath the car started to descend like a freight elevator. "Uh—"

He put his free index finger up to my lips, then slowly removed it and kissed the back of my hand as we were lowered, car and all, into the darkness.

We arrived more than twenty feet below the surface at an opening the size of a garage door. Unlike on the previous visit, my eyes were open that time. I noticed the entrance led into a warehouse area surrounded by glass-encased rooms, filled with my trunks and their contents that had been delivered to Dunston House earlier.

I looked at Dell again for further instruction.

_"Bugs,"_ he mouthed, followed by, _"Play along."_

I nodded and turned to see a man approaching my side of the car. He opened the door for me and offered his hand. "Hello, Mrs. Beringer. I am Martin, the first footman."

"Hello, Martin." I took his hand and exited the car.

From behind Martin came a man holding cue cards. He wiggled one at me, and I turned to Dell.

"Read it."

I turned back to the card and read, "Such a lovely house, Dell. Are you considering buying it?"

"Would that make you happ'a, darlin'?" Dell asked, now standing next to me.

"Yes, it would, my love," I read, suddenly feeling the need to gag.

"Well, then I shall. I've alread'a written Mr. and Mrs. Faber, and they're considerin' my off'a."

"You've already made an offer?" I asked, trying to feign surprise.

"Yes. I thought that would make a lovel'a weddin' present for you."

"Oh, thank you! Now I can be near my uncle!" I read with enthusiasm.

Dell just smiled, trying not to laugh.

As we read, people in white coats ran some kind of a scanner along my body, stopping whenever the device lit. Whatever the gadget was, it seemed to have a fascination with my new shoes and corset, both of which made the instrument blink and glow like a hand-held Christmas tree.

Dell stepped aside and quickly wrote something on a blank cue card. Then he motioned for one of the white-coated men to come over to him.

"Mr. Beringer," the man read from the card.

"Yes?"

"May I have a word with you?"

Can't it wait?

No, I'm afraid not, Mr. Beringer." The man looked up at Dell, who nodded and looked at me.

"Darlin', would you mind waitin' for me in the drawin' room? I'll be just a minute," Dell said, then gave me an exaggerated wink.

"All right," I replied.

He then nodded at a female lab assistant, who led me into one of the windowed rooms. She drew the curtain and wrote on a dry-erase board, "Your shoes and corset are bugged."

I nodded as she proceeded to unbutton my dress and help me to remove it and the corset. She left the room and returned with a replacement corset that, once on, felt like I wasn't even wearing one.

_"Thank you!"_ I mouthed.

She just smiled and helped me to don the dress again.

I walked out of the room barefoot, carrying my shoes and feeling the best I'd felt in months. "You're back already?" I read from a card Dell had written when I was gone.

"Yes."

"Is there anything wrong?" I asked, trying to sound genuinely concerned.

"Naw, just somethin' with the brakes on my ca'."

"Are they broken?" I struggled not to laugh.

"Oh, darlin'," Dell said, his voice filled with laughter. "They're simpl'a fine. Just an overl'a concerned chauffeur, that's all."

We spent the rest of the evening taking turns carrying my shoes around and reading off mostly pre-made cue cards. It was exhausting, which, unfortunately, led to both of us falling asleep without officially consummating our marriage.

# Chapter Twenty-Four

**I AWAKENED THE** next morning somewhere in the bowels of Dunston House. Alone.

"Nice," I said to the vacant room. I sat up and stretched and soon realized that I was fully clothed, in my outfit from the night before. "I'm still wearing this thing?" I muttered, shocked that the corset hadn't gored me in my sleep. I sat staring at the drool pool I had left on the scratchy, putrid green, woven couch that had served as my bed for the night. I felt my face and noticed that the couch pattern was also embedded in my right cheek. "Happy me."

The room was a stark white, including the cold linoleum floor beneath my feet. My bugged shoes were gone, already relocated the night before, with the rest of my clothing in one of the other rooms. I stood up and walked, barefoot, to the mirror that hung on the wall opposite me. I stared into it for a moment, hoping it was not a two-way.

Regardless, I pulled on my skin in an effort to smooth out the crisscross pattern that not only covered my cheek but my forehead and ear as well. "That's it. I feel a divorce coming on already," I said dryly to my reflection.

Almost immediately, the door swung open, and the woman in the lab coat from the previous night stood in the doorway. She stared at me, eyeing me up and down for several seconds, before saying, "Good morning."

My hand flew to cover the right side of my face as I tried to offer a smile in reply.

"This way." She gestured to the open doorway.

"Lovely." I smiled as I walked through the opening and was greeted by an even brighter hallway that glowed with its artificial brilliance. "Do you have a dimmer for these things?" I asked, squinting.

My attempt at conversation was ignored as the woman quickly escorted me to another room and gestured to the table and chairs it contained.

"Please be seated. Someone will be with you shortly." She was gone before I could reply.

I looked around the room and wished I had been issued sunglasses. "I didn't think hell would be white." I pulled two of the cushion-less chairs together and rested my legs on one while reclining on the other. "I really need to get the name of your decorator!" I smiled up at the ceiling and the camera it contained.

After several minutes in that position, I felt a crook in my neck developing and was forced to sit up. "Why do people say 'shortly,' when they don't mean it?" I asked my camera friend. "Hello? Anyone?"

Several minutes passed before I stood and tried the door. It was locked. "I'm starving, and I need the restroom," I cried, knocking on the door. "And would a shower be out of the question?" Then, I frantically wiggled the door latch.

Click.

The door swung open, and the woman from earlier stood in the doorway, pointing. "Down the hall and to the right."

Within the first two steps inside the ladies' room, something it contained made me forget every inconvenience the morning had brought. "A real toilet!" __ I ran toward it, like a reunion with an old friend, then smiled down at its porcelain beauty. "Oh, how I've missed you!" I was near tears as I reached for a liner and placed it on the seat, saying, "Nice hat." The spool on the wall captured my attention next. "Two-ply," I whispered, winding a mitt of toilet paper around one hand and rubbing it on my patterned cheek. "I guess I was wrong. This isn't hell after all." Then, I proceeded to sit on my old friend for longer than was necessary.

Sadly, I was interrupted far too soon by the sound of a knock on the bathroom door.

"Yes?" I said, slightly irritated.

A voice came from the other side of the door. "I have the things for your shower."

"A shower? Perfect!" I quickly finished and washed my hands as the automatic flusher made a deafening noise behind me.

A different woman was standing outside the bathroom door holding one of my dresses from the trunk, along with a towel and an unfamiliar pair of shoes.

"Thank you," I said, reaching for the stack.

"I'll carry it, ma'am," she said. "Right this way."

I followed her down the hall and into a dorm-like shower room, where she hung the dress and towel on hooks, then started one of the showers for me. "Allow me to assist you," she said.

It didn't take much coaxing for me to turn around, so she could help remove my dress and corset.

"Soap and shampoo are in the stall." She smiled when she was finished. "I'll be right outside if you need me."

"What's your name?"

"Sorry. I can't say, but I'll be right here." She gestured to the hallway and quickly exited.

"Can't? Won't? Who cares? I get to take a shower," I muttered. I stepped into the stall and just stood underneath the faucet, lost in the moment as the warm water flowed around me, and the steam filled my sinuses. _I hope they have a huge water heater!_ After what seemed almost an hour, I finally washed my hair and scrubbed my body.

"Excuse me, ma'am," my unnamed assistant said over the stall door.

"Yes?"

"Mr., uh...I mean, your husband is waiting for you."

I didn't really care; after all, he wasn't exactly my favorite person at that moment. __ "Okay, thank you," I said and tipped my head back once more to let the warm water run over me. As far as I was concerned, he could wait until I was good and ready.

A few minutes later, with the shower complete, my hair dried and piled atop my head, and my outfit laced and buttoned around me, I felt like a new woman, ready to take on the man who let me spend my wedding night alone on a scratchy couch in a basement, without as much as a pillow or blanket. _Good thing that shower helped remove the couch-pattern from my face!_ I fumed as I accompanied my assistant back to the room with the table and chairs.

But my anger completely disappeared when we entered the room, and I saw Dell standing there, holding the back of a chair-for support.

"Oh my God!" I held my hand to my mouth. The bruises and bandaged cuts that covered almost every inch of exposed skin on Dell's body made me want to cry. I slowly walked closer to him. "What happened?"

"The accident."

"You mean..." I hesitated. "It's over?"

He nodded. "Yes, we're dead."

"But, I don't understand," I cried, horrified by both his words and appearance. "I thought we were going to die on our honeymoon?"

"We did."

"What?"

"We had an accident three weeks into it."

I found a seat and plopped down. "I'm so confused!" I cupped my head in my hands, ruining the hair style that my assistant had just created.

"I traveled three weeks into the future. We experienced brake failure on a winding road in Italy," Dell said.

"Were you driving? I mean, _really_ driving?"

"Part of the time."

"But you could have died!"

"Yes, but I didn't."

"But you _could_ have!"

"I didn't, sweetheart." He moved next to me. "Ow!"

I looked up as he tried to ease himself into a chair. "Did you jump out of the car?" I asked, reaching for his bandaged hand.

"Yes."

"Dell!"

"I know, I know." He tried to smile. "But someone needed to drive the thing."

"Did it _have_ to be you?"

He just nodded.

"Where was I, supposedly, during all this?"

"In the passenger seat, of course." His attempt at humor failed. I just stared as he added, "One of your deceased European cousins volunteered for the job."

"Huh?"

"She died in an accident in 1754. I doubt she'll be missed."

"Wait..." I said, shocked and still not fully grasping what he was telling me. "Are you saying that you pulled her out of history and put her dead body in the car?"

"We needed a DNA match, just in case."

"And _your_ match? Another you possibly?" I couldn't help but be sarcastic.

"No," he said, trying to chuckle, "but it was a deceased relative. The car burst into flames and fell into the ocean. There was nothing to bury."

I shuddered. "Ick."

"You asked." He smiled.

"I did, didn't I?" I smiled back. "Now what?"

"We hide in history, just as we planned."

"Where? Or should I say...when?"

"They'll have an answer to that soon. Meanwhile, I suppose my wife is expecting a honeymoon."

"Yes she is, but you don't exactly look fit to join me." I grinned, patting his hand. "Maybe Shane should step in."

"So funny, ha-ha," he said, trying to turn his head in my direction.

"Well, it wouldn't exactly be cheating."

"Em, if my side wasn't already split, that last one would have done the trick." He offered a weak smile. "The honeymoon will have to wait a bit longer, I'm afraid."

"Can I kiss you at least?"

"Gently." He tried to lean toward me.

I gave him the softest kiss I could, but even that sent him into spasms of pain. "I'm so sorry, Dell." I also felt guilty for being upset with him earlier.

The door swung open and an orderly came in pushing a wheel chair.

Dell looked at the chair, then at me. "I have to go."

"I'm going with you."

"Sorry, Em. You can't. I must go to the future."

"But—"

The orderly helped him into the wheel chair. "You'll be fine, sweetheart. They'll take you to a safe house, where you can wait for me."

"No!" I cried, then knelt at his side. "You said you'd never leave me!"

He touched my face. "It's the last thing I want to do, but I have to recover."

I wanted to argue, but my words were a lost priority behind his many wounds. Plus, right on cue, one of Maude's wise sayings entered my thoughts and put it all into perspective: _"It's difficult for a broken man to keep a whole promise."_ I looked at him and finally asked, "It's serious, isn't it?"

"Yes, but they can help me."

Then another thought crossed my mind. "Why didn't you just come back to me after you recovered? Is there a chance that you won't—"

"Sweetheart, there might be complications."

I wanted to die but knew that my meltdown would only add to his pain. "Thank you for coming here first," I said, trying to smile.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too." Tears filled my eyes as the orderly wheeled him away. I felt paralyzed, almost glued to the floor as they disappeared through a set of swinging doors.

"Ma'am?" My assistant touched me on the shoulder.

I stood and turned toward her, with tears streaming down my face.

"It's time," she said, then led me into the hall.

"Will my things be sent as well?"

"No, ma'am. Based on our research, we have learned that Lord Winston will request your clothes and trunks be returned to Winston Manor following your funeral, bugs and all, with the exception of the dress you are wearing."

I looked down at my outfit, then back at my assistant.

"It's the dress you were wearing when...in your accident, ma'am."

_The same accident that nearly killed Dell!_ I was horrified. "Why am I wearing it? It should be destroyed!"

"Mr. Beringer chose it for you. It's his favorite."

Fresh tears sprang to my eyes and found their way halfway down my face before I even knew they arrived. I was a mess. At that moment, I also realized I was alone. _I may never see Mom again, and who knows when or if I'll see Dell. Great choice, Em. Way to go!_

My tearful reaction appeared to make my assistant nervous. First, she dropped her pen, followed by the clipboard she was holding. As both clattered to the floor, she quickly bent to pick them up. "Uh, ma'am, it's all right. I'm sure Mr. Beringer will be right as rain before you know it."

Her words reminded me of Maude, and I instantly panicked. "I forgot! I have a small suitcase I brought from home. My mother gave it to me, and I will not leave without it."

"I'll see what I can do." She seemed grateful for the excuse to depart and nearly ran in the opposite direction, leaving me standing in the hallway.

I dried my eyes, then paced the entire length of the corridor in her absence, trying not to panic further over my suitcase and the journal it contained.

"Is this the one, ma'am?" She returned holding my Maude suitcase.

"Yes. Oh, thank you so much!"

"We were able to replicate it so that the copy can be returned with your other things."

"And you're sure this is the original?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"May I?" I asked, holding out my hand.

"Certainly," she said and gave me the case.

I carried it into the room and examined the exterior before placing it on the large table. It appeared to have all the correct markings. The interior was also as I left it, seemingly empty. Similar to my examination of its hidden contents in the presence of Mr. Wilson, I ran my fingers along the lining of the case, trying to discreetly lift the latch and feel for the Maude journal, without drawing suspicion from the watchful eye of my assistant. I soon felt its familiar cover. _It's there!_

"Everything all right?" she asked from the doorway.

"Yes, I wanted to be sure this didn't get mixed up with the fake."

She stood expressionless in the threshold, looking insulted.

Regardless, I walked past her, into the hall, with a death grip on my case.

A large door at the end of the hallway led back into the warehouse space, where I'd first arrived, full of the lab coat-clad staff who worked in the white, windowed rooms. The open space was dimly lit and absolutely quiet, but it cast enough light for me to recognize my trunks of clothes as I walked past them.

Mr. Cue Card Guy approached me, carrying a sign that read, "Complete silence!" in gigantic, bold letters. He held it up less than a foot from my face, as if I couldn't see it from across the room.

I nodded, hoping that would satisfy him enough to make him go away. I was in luck.

He nodded in return and walked back toward the others.

Annoying little man!

As my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, I was drawn to something in the center of the room that was almost glowing from beneath a single overhead light. _It can't be!_ I squinted as I walked closer.

Within a few feet, I stopped mid-step. _It is...and it's my ride!_ I inhaled, trying not to suck all the oxygen from the room as my hand flew to my mouth to stifle any sound that might have normally left my lips. _"A Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost!"_ I mouthed in amazement.

The gleaming object before me was one of the most beautiful cars I had ever seen. Its sleek black frame radiated an energy that made it seem alive. It was like a magnet, drawing me closer with every breath.

I couldn't fight the attraction, but as I slowly neared the magnificent machine, I felt almost afraid to be in its presence. _I'm not worthy!_ I remembered Dr. Moore caressing his laminated photos of cars from that era, forever talking about how rare each one was, especially the Ghost, as he called it. Now I knew why.

Within a few yards of the passenger side, I was unable to move. I could only stare at the shiny beauty. I hadn't felt that way about a car since I first encountered Gerd's.

It came complete with a chauffeur, who was already sitting in the driver's seat, smiling at me. My assistant led me the rest of the way to the car and opened the back door for me.

I nodded, and she did the same, as I loaded myself and my suitcase into the back seat.

Before very quietly closing the door, Cue Card Guy approached me again, carrying a small cup with "Drink this" written on the side.

I just looked at him.

He rolled his eyes impatiently, then looked down at the cup as he held it out to me again.

_It makes sense, I suppose_. I took the cup and drank its contents in one gulp. _I have, after all, fallen into the rabbit hole. But you really should have written, "Drink me," Tweedle-dumb._ I gave him back the cup and made myself comfortable in my seat. _Is it supposed to make me small or tall?_ The answer eluded me as the world began to spin around me, then went black.

* * *

Groggy and a bit disoriented, I found myself in a huge canopy bed on an overstuffed mattress that would have given The Beast a run for the money. The walls of the gigantic room were devoid of any form of wallpaper, and the furniture was from so many periods that it was difficult to decide which one I was currently visiting. It was similar to a roulette wheel of furniture. I climbed down from the monster bed and ran my fingers along the fabric of a chaise lounge that sat in an alcove near the curtained window.

I pulled back the curtain and opened the French doors that led me onto a balcony. A massive lawn spanned in all directions in front of and beside my second-story view, then met an abrupt, rocky end as it seemed to simply disappear. The sun was coming up, which allowed me to see miles of ocean beyond the edge of the lawn. The cold, salty air reminded me just how much I missed home and Nana Rosie and Papa Bob's beach house in Seaside, where I spent my summers.

A loud crashing noise behind me brought my attention back to the house and my room. A small girl was there, kneeling on the floor, trying to return several broken chunks of coal to an overturned bucket that rested next to her.

"Good morning," I said carefully, with a smile.

"Uh, morning miss, uh...ma'am, er, I mean Lady Milton. I didn't expect you to be awake so early," she said in a thick British accent. She stood and curtseyed, then looked down at the mess she'd made.

"No matter. What's your name?" _Apparently, mine is Lady Milton._

"Oh, uh, sorry, milady." She tried to brush the coal from her hands onto her apron. "I'm Eliza, the new housemaid."

"Well, I'm pleased to meet you, Eliza. I wish to get an early start on my correspondence today, but I seem to have forgotten the date. Do you happen to know it?"

"Yes, milady." She smiled, sheepishly, as if surprised and grateful I wasn't intent on scolding her for her clumsiness. "It is the twelfth of June."

"Thank you. I have a friend whose birthday is coming up, and I don't want to miss it," I said, hoping my fib wasn't obvious.

"Very thoughtful of you, milady, I just celebrated mine last month."

"Oh, how nice! What year were you born?"

"In 1892."

"Well, happy belated birthday then, Eliza." I smiled. "So you are how old now?"

"Oh, sixteen, milady."

"Quite right! You are sixteen indeed, a very good age to be in service," I continued, smiling. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to keep you from your work."

"Thank you, milady." She knelt again to sweep her mess into the bucket.

_June 12, 1908? Great. I went back in time—to corsets,_ I lamented to myself.

I walked over to my closet and noticed that it was loaded with fabric-filled dresses and button-clad shoes, several of which were resting on the Maude suitcase. _Well, that's one good thing. At least my journal's safe._ Relieved, __ I closed the door and noticed Eliza now standing, holding the bucket.

"Would you like me to fetch Goodwin for you?" she asked.

"Goodwin?"

"Your ladies' maid, milady."

Oh, not right now, Eliza, but thank you." I needed time to think and begin to digest my new predicament.

After she left, I spent the next few hours filling the pages of my Maude journal with the events surrounding and including my wedding.

"I think I might lose a limb," I muttered, rubbing my right hand as I finally covered my ink well and stowed my journal and its case back in the wardrobe.

* * *

From that day forward, with no idea how long it would be before Dell arrived or if he would, I tried to spend most of my free time writing in my journal. Fortunately, it only took a few days to update it. Unfortunately, a whole month passed before I had anything new to report, and I was going out of my mind with both worry and boredom.

"Milady?" The butler said, in a much more refined version of Eliza's accent. He met me as I returned to the house from a morning stroll along the great lawn that overlooked the ocean.

"Yes, Stevens?"

"Lord Milton just arrived and is waiting in the library."

Stunned, I gave no reply, causing him to repeat his announcement. When he reached the word "arrived," I stopped him.

"Thank you, Stevens. I heard you. I'm just surprised."

"As are we all." He offered a slight bow, then walked away in his usual proper fashion.

I entered the library and saw Dell standing with his back to the door, looking out at the lawn where I had just been walking. "Why didn't you go outside?" I asked, stepping toward him.

As he slowly turned around, I noticed that his hair was longer than before, and the color was much lighter than it should have been. When our eyes met, I knew that something was terribly wrong. I stopped, unable to walk any closer, and stared at him in disbelief. "Shane?"

"Em!" He smiled at me.

"What are you doing here? Where's Dell?"

He walked past me to the door and closed it, then returned without once removing his eyes from mine.

"What's going on?" I asked

"He's fine, Emily."

"Then why are _you_ here?"

"Gee, it's nice to see you too!"

"If this is a joke, I don't find any of it the least bit funny," I said, trying not to raise my voice. "Please, Shane, where is Dell, and why am I here?"

"There have been some complications with your placement, so they sent you to the company's original manor house for your safety."

"Where am I exactly?"

He just stared at me.

"No newspapers, nothing, and we must be miles from civilization. Who knows? I can't get anything out of anyone here."

"Good. They're doing their jobs well then," he said, suddenly serious.

"I want to see Dell."

"That's precisely why I'm here. Can you be ready in an hour?"

"I'm ready now. In fact, I've been ready for a month!"

"Very good. Your maid has your clothes. Go put them on, and I'll meet you down here as soon as you're dressed," he said, still keeping his eyes on mine.

I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you, Shane."

He just smiled as I left the room.

I almost ran to my bedroom and nearly scared Goodwin to death with my enthusiasm as I flung the door open.

"Oh!" She screamed and lost her grip on the dress she was holding.

"I'm sorry, Goodwin. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Quite all right, milady." She retrieved the dress from the floor and held it up in front of her.

"The 1920s?" I asked, noticing the drop waist and high hemline.

"Yes," she said, not hiding anything.

I was unable to believe my eyes. "No corset?"

"No, milady."

I could have fallen to my knees on the spot if I had more than an hour to be grateful, but I chose to hug Goodwin instead.

"You'll wrinkle the gown, milady!" she said, stifling a giggle.

"Of course."

I stepped back from the dress to get a better look. It was a soft peach taffeta with tiny vertical beads sewn in flower patterns along the front. The drop waist had a band of fabric, finished with a broach-like bead, sewn on the right side. A matching beaded purse lay on the dressing table for me to admire as Goodwin worked on my hair. Styling my hair properly took longer than I thought, but I finally returned to the library in just under an hour, with my Maude suitcase firmly gripped in my hand.

Shane smiled as I entered the room. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you," I said, looking down at my dress.

A noticeably sad look came over his face. "Dell is a lucky man."

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Oh, I just wish—"

"Wish what?"

"Never mind. Come now. We don't want to be late."

He led me down the hall to a closet-like door that opened to an elevator door. He pushed the button, and within seconds, the door opened. Once inside, Shane punched a code into the pad on the wall and pressed the G button. We instantly plummeted at a far higher rate of speed than I expected. I reached for something to hold on to and found Shane's outstretched hand.

He held my hand until the elevator finally came to a stop. "All right?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you." I smiled and took a few deep breaths to regain my balance, before leaving the elevator.

We walked toward a set of large double-doors and another key pad. My new surroundings reminded me of the basement of Winston Manor.

The corridor beyond held a newer Rolls-Royce than the last one, a black 1920 Silver Ghost limousine. It was just as impressive and came complete with the same smiling chauffeur. Unfortunately, on that occasion, I didn't have time to drool.

"This is where I leave you," Shane said.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to my time."

"Thank you, Shane." I put my case down to give him a hug.

"Be good to me," he whispered in my ear.

"I will," I whispered in reply, then kissed him on the cheek. "Earlier, you said you have a wish. What is it?"

He flashed his crooked smile. "Just that I could be ten years older."

I smiled, too, reaching down to pick up my suitcase. I walked over to the car and entered through the door the chauffeur was holding open for me. I turned to wave at Shane, but he was already gone.

_Great. Yet another one who's not good with goodbyes_. With my thoughts to keep me company, I took my seat in the back of the car.

# Epilogue

**I STOOD IN** front of the large oak tree Maude had described to me a million times before. It was much smaller than I had previously envisioned; then again, she was remembering a tree from her youth.

"You must have looked enormous to such a small girl," I said, smiling at the arbor.

Maude's family moved into the house shaded by that tree in July of 1920, when she was just ten. Maude climbed that tree every day as a young girl, telling it her most intimate secrets as she sat among its branches. It was the very tree she used to dig around in search of buried treasure, and it was the tree under which I would bury my Maude journal.

The note I attached to the front of the journal was the last thing I added before wrapping it in oil cloth and placing it in a cookie tin, within a hole I had just dug next to the trunk.

TOP SECRET

Friday, May 7, 1920

Dear Elizabeth,

This is a journal for your eyes only!

You don't know me, but you will. I'm Emily; your great-grandniece. I addressed this journal to you because you are the only one I trust. I know you love secrets, and this is one of the biggest ones you will ever be asked to keep. Guard this book with your life...and trust no one with its contents.

You will have a wonderful life, filled with many adventures. Most of all, you will be greatly loved, especially by me. Thank you for taking care of my journal and for being the amazing person you are.

Love,

Emily

P.S. _You changed your name to Maude. No one knows why, but that is what you wanted to be called._

P.P.S. _Someday, when you're very old, please write my mom a letter for her to open on January 15, 2013, telling her I am fine and that I love her. Please also let her know where she can find the journal. When the time comes, you'll know what to do._
Thank you for reading _Dear Maude_!

If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to leave a review at your favorite retailer.

Want to know what happens next?

Continue Emily's journey now in For the Love of Maude

# A Sneak Peek of For the Love of Maude

Prologue

**THE BLANK PAPER** begged to be covered in words, but the more I stared at its nakedness, the more it teased me, reminding me of my lack of focus. I wanted to crumple it and remove the challenge of filling its space. A paper shredder came to mind, a pair of scissors, a match; but I was alone in a white room, filled with only a metal desk, gray office chair on wheels, and _the paper_.

I opened the solitary drawer, extending across the front of the desk, and found among its contents a pen and pencil, a gum eraser, an ink well, a fountain pen, and a blotter—modern and antique side by side, just like my life.

I scooped out the contents of the drawer and deposited them in a pile on the desk.

In need of inspiration, I separated the pencil from the other objects and placed it on the paper. It was orange, sharpened to a fine point and lacking the teeth marks my collection of pencils was known for in college. Unsanitary, but it guaranteed that no one would want to borrow one and forget to return it. I graduated with all my pencils intact—a small victory for a girl who lost everything else.

I ran my fingers across the paper, wishing the words would just appear, the ones that would tell my story from the beginning. Unfortunately, I'd forgotten where that was. I was lost somewhere in the middle, flailing around while everyone else went on with their lives.

I moved on to the tortoise-shell green fountain pen with a slight chip on the tip. "It needs a new nib." I closed my eyes and shook my head. "I shouldn't even know what that means—no one born in 1990 should." With a quick swipe, I relocated the pencil and fountain pen, along with the ink bottle, blotter, and gum eraser into the drawer and slammed it closed.

A blue ballpoint pen remained next to the paper, on the right, as if it knew which hand would reach for it. I did its bidding, grabbing the thing and giving the end a quick _click_ to reveal the tip.

I hadn't written a word since I buried the journal. Addressed to my grandmother's deceased aunt, Maude, whose friendship, wisdom, and understanding I sought even after she died, the journal had become my lifeline to the world I left behind. Now I was alone among strangers—no Maude journal, no family, no husband, just scientists who treated me as more of a specimen than a human being.

It was the first opportunity I had in months to be without an audience and think—to do something, anything, with a blank piece of paper. So, after a deep breath, I finally touched the pen to paper and began to write:

Dear Maude,

I miss you every day. I'm sorry I haven't written in a while. I can't—not because I lack writing supplies, but because putting my words on paper makes the last two years real. Then I'd have to admit that I'm a time traveler.

I also ask myself every day why I accepted that stupid scholarship from Evergreen Research Corporation in New York, and their job after graduation that threw me into this position. I'm still waiting for an answer. I should be the envy of my college classmates, who are probably stuck in cubicles, knowing a window office is the best they'll ever achieve. After all, not everyone can say they graduated in 2012, worked in 1910, and then lived in so many other years that they lost track. Even if I could say these things—and so much more—I wouldn't. Some secrets are best left hidden—or written in journals like the one I hope you found by now, buried beneath the oak tree you often described as your favorite childhood treasure-hunting spot. Besides, the world isn't ready to discover just how manipulated history could be if Evergreen has its way.

Of course, even after I joined Evergreen, I could have smiled and nodded and gathered information for four years, then gone home to Oregon like it never happened, just as Evergreen wanted. But no. I had to meet Dell with Holtz & Sons (H&S)—the good guys, the ones who have been doing it longer, the ones who allow history to simply happen.

Worse, I did what I always promised myself I wouldn't do—I gave up my future to be with a guy, just as Mom did and Nana Rosie before her. Unlike them, though, I didn't get pregnant. How could I? Dell and I never consummated. This is ironic, considering our son and his descendants are the "S" in H&S.

I'm so confused! With time travel, nothing is linear, especially time itself. Not only that, but Holtz & Sons' brilliant plan to fake my death and Dell's, then hide in history backfired...

The pen fell from my hand before I even realized I dropped it. Unable to write another word, I pushed the paper away and rested my folded arms in its place, then scooted the chair backward with my feet until my forehead met my wrist. I closed my eyes and shook my head.

"You're sure in a pickle this time, Toots!" Maude's wise sayings had a funny way of finding their way into my head and making sense of stressful situations.

My own reply bounced up to my ears from the surface of the desk. "Yeah, a big barrel of them."

I took a deep breath and left the comfort of my arms to once again stare at the paper. I pulled it to me, then brought the pen to join it:

If Evergreen hadn't wanted to keep me single by killing Dell, we wouldn't have had to fake our deaths in the first place! Then Dell wouldn't have gotten so hurt that he needed the technology of 2125 to recover.

I can't get that image out of my head, Maude. He was wrapped up in more bandages than a mummy, and what wasn't covered was bruised or bloody or both.

I looked at the pen, wishing the words that came from it would somehow create a better picture of Dell in my mind. Sadly, it just balanced between my fingers, blue and unmoving until I started to write again:

I didn't think he'd be gone this long—maybe a week or so, but months? I should have demanded to go with him! He said I wasn't ready for the future, but I'm not ready for this either. We should be hiding in history together, honeymooning in various eras, while remaining dead in the eyes of Evergreen. Avoiding their discovery and whatever wrath they might impose upon me—their once most important asset—should be my only concern. Yet, here I am alone, stuck in the past under Holtz & Sons' protection, constantly shuffled between safe houses in time frames that run together like spumoni on a summer day. What little they tell me, seems to be a bunch of lies. They keep promising a reunion with Dell, only to disappoint me each time.

I'm in the basement laboratory of one of their safe houses now, and it's almost time to leave for my next one. I'd better stop. I'll write more later.

Love,

Emily

I placed the pen on the desk, stretched my arms high above my head, then rose and walked to the door. I turned the knob and pulled it toward me.

Before I could even step a foot across the threshold, I was greeted by a middle-aged woman, dressed in a standard white lab coat that covered her black slacks. Most of the basement employees were from the future, but their uniforms gave nothing away. Her graying brown hair was short and grazed the bottom of her ear lobes, offering her otherwise bland appearance its only trace of personality. "Yes, miss?" she asked.

"Hello, I was just wondering, _when_ am I?" That was my favorite question, a little time travel humor.

The woman just stared.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't catch your name." I knew I wouldn't either.

With Evergreen's technology improving by the day, H&S security was high, and my name and location changed like the wind. The personal side of things—names, smiles, and small talk—were often lost in the shuffle. Only high-level H&S employees were privy to my real name, and as an extra security measure, I often didn't learn theirs.

I smiled at her silence and asked my real question: "I don't suppose we'll be leaving any time soon?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I was asked to fetch you in five minutes."

_Fetch? What am I, a stick?_ I smiled and kept my comments to myself. "Isn't that great news? I'll be right out."

I closed the door and stood against it, staring at the desk and the letter it held. _What was I thinking? I buried my journal and its secrets for a reason, to keep it safe. I don't need to defeat that purpose. Besides, if Maude found the journal as a child, she'd have lived the rest of her life knowing most of this already._

I walked to the letter, folded it up tight, and placed it into my jeans pocket. When I left the room, I found the same employee standing just outside. "I need to use the restroom before we depart," I said.

She walked with me to the ladies' room and waited outside as I promptly tore the letter into small pieces and flushed them down the toilet.
Chapter One

**THERE I STOOD** , teetering on the precipice of where I'd been and where I needed to go. Dell, my mom, and my life were somewhere down the tunnel on my right. I squinted into its long darkness, eventually losing sight of the taillights from the car I'd just exited. I continued to strain my senses until the echoing engine noise left only silence. Then I took a deep breath before slowly turning to my left and the approaching welcoming committee.

I was in one of the H&S basement laboratories, subterranean portals to the past and future, equipped with more security than Fort Knox. Located beneath structures they called "safe houses," their labs were connected to elaborate systems of high-speed tunnels that allowed time travel via specially modified vintage automobiles. I could still smell the exhaust from the light blue 1957 Corvette, whose driver had just delivered me.

I looked around the giant warehouse space in search of my husband; as usual, I was left disappointed. I tried to remain hopeful each time I traveled, but I was growing tired of playing the H&S waiting game.

Crash!

In his hurry to greet me, a man leading a gaggle of white-coated lab workers dropped a metal clipboard on the shiny, gray epoxy floor. The sound echoed off the cavernous walls that surrounded me, a loud reminder that I was, in fact, living a nightmare.

"Mrs. Holtz!"

Like geese, the group arrived in a V-formation with the man in front extending his hand in my direction.

I gave his soggy hand a shake and counted my blessings when he quickly released his grip. "Please call me 'Emily'!" Since he'd used my married name, I knew I could safely offer my first, but my new last name still didn't feel right. I hadn't used my maiden name, Stanton, in years, and without Dell, Holtz was just another name, one I hadn't earned.

"Yes, thank you, Miss Emily...and hello. So glad to see you. I'm...blah-blah...and these are my colleagues...blah, blah, and blah."

He lost me at "Hello."

His use of names should have signaled something in my brain about his position with the company, but all I could do was stare at the green piece of yuck stuck between his front teeth. _Spinach?_ I squinted to get a better look. _No. Definitely lettuce._ A victim of lumpy beds and constant travel, I hadn't slept well in weeks, maybe months; I'd lost track. Watching the man's lips move was the only way I could focus on his words that seemed to drift in and out like waves on the ocean.

"We're just so delighted to..."

_Wow, is that a cold sore?_ I shifted my focus to the crusty mass at the corner of his mouth.

"But I'm sure all this talk of technology and breakthroughs can wait for Mr. Holtz."

His words finally drew my full attention as his flapping lips met in an arrogant grin.

_I cannot believe you just said that!_ Science wasn't my strongest subject in school, but I always pulled A's in it, as well as every other course I studied. _Just because I'm tired doesn't mean I'm stupid!_ I fought through a number of scenarios in my head, most of which required more effort than he was worth. Regardless, I didn't have the energy, but my mouth did. Thus, against my better upbringing and my position as the boss's wife, I decided to allow my now cranky disposition to wipe the smile from his face. I ignored his last comment and offered "Nice to meet you all!" to the rest of the group.

Two other men and one women, all in lab coats with nondescript black slacks beneath, took turns shaking my hand.

Then I smiled at Mr. Lettuce Teeth. "I take it you're in charge?" It was obvious, but I needed to know for sure.

"Yes, I am!"

With his mouth no longer the center of my attention, I noticed the perfectly combed brown hair and amber eyes that looked at me as if I were a field mouse or, rather, a lab rat. The man was in his late twenties and his clammy handshake reminded me of Mr. Wilson's, the Evergreen employee who helped train me to live in the past. Since I wasn't paying attention when the introductions were made, I decided to rename Mr. Lettuce Teeth "Willy."

When he eagerly remained before me, smiling confidently, I pelted Willy with a barrage of questions, which I flung out in such rapid succession that he staggered backward, as if he had actually been struck by them. The stunned look on his face was priceless. I referred to that method as the "Tommy Gun Approach," named after the gangsters' weapon of choice in the 1920s. Similar to them, I felt justified; in fact, I had nothing to lose. Therefore, I led with, "When and where am I?" I noted the reaction carefully, trying not to blink as I did so.

"Well, uh..."

I smiled. "Oh, that's all right. I know you probably can't tell me. And where is Dell?

"Uh, I'm not—"

"—at liberty to say?" I finished for him, then added, "Of course."

At that point, my smile grew, while the one in charge stopped smiling entirely and began to shuffle uncomfortably. I had him. Answering my questions was far above his pay grade. Most valued their jobs enough to avoid unnecessary conversation with me, but that was not the case with Willy. His colleagues masked their smiles from behind tightly stretched lips, staring at the ground in the process. I felt like their hero as I kept guiding the bullets.

"Shane, then?" I asked, referring to Dell's younger self, whom he had plucked from his past to provide assistance in his absence.

"Uh..." Willy drew his clipboard toward his downturned face.

"Right!" My smile only grew broader. "And how long shall I be here?"

"Well, we really don't—"

"—know?" I smiled, pretending to be helpful.

The clipboard was now in full use as Willy feverishly flipped through the pages, most likely in search of his lost importance.

I was unrelenting. "I'm quite tired." I worked up a yawn and patted my open lips.

"You're—"

"Yes. The journey."

"Oh. Well, uh..."

Then, a brave one stepped out of the group and walked toward me. He reached for Maude's suitcase, a vintage, rigid-sided reminder of home that I refused to travel without. "May I?" he asked.

"Of course!" I ignored the now distraught Willy, who had been reduced to a babbling idiot in front of the co-workers whom, judging by their reactions, he had belittled for years. I couldn't resist the urge to shoot one more bullet his way. "Finally! So kind of _someone_ to offer!"

As I brushed past, I cast a backward glance at Willy, who was staring in pale disbelief while his co-worker and I, as well as his career, faded away.

We walked down a long, white hallway dotted with picture windows, behind which were housed banks of instruments and more employees in lab coats. Neither the lab worker nor I spoke as he escorted me to a large metal security door. I just wanted sleep, without all the fanfare, and I appreciated the silence; I knew I'd probably said too much already.

After punching numbers into a keypad beside the door, he bent down so his retina could be scanned by a small screen above the keypad. The vault-like door made a clicking sound, and the guard standing next to it turned the wheel on its face and opened it just enough for us to pass through. Such security measures were common to other labs, and I wasn't surprised to find many similar doors down a long series of cavernous hallways. The final entrance placed us before a stainless elevator door, next to which the lab worker pressed the up button.

"It was nice meeting you, Miss Emily," he said.

"You too, uh..." I searched the front of his coat for a nametag I knew wouldn't be there. _I guess I should have been paying attention earlier._

His forgiving smile drew me into his handsome features and held me there. "Barnaby. Samuel Barnaby," he said.

I could only stare. The man was just under six feet tall, with light brown hair and bright eyes that now danced at my reaction. _How did I miss those big, hazel eyes? And his face is nearly perfect. Look at that mouth, those lips, those teeth! Am I that dead?_

The open elevator door saved me from further embarrassment as the heat from a familiar, hot blush crept up my neck, and reassured me that I was very much alive. I rushed inside and turned to see Barnaby pushing the first floor button.

"Have a pleasant stay," he said. Then he handed me the suitcase and stepped out of the elevator.

The door closed before I could reply, and stood in front of me like a giant mirror, reflecting the crimson blush on my cheeks. I looked away but caught my reflection on the other stainless walls that surrounded me. Unnerved by my unwanted embarrassment, I just stared at the white tile floor beneath my feet. _Nice, Em. One minute, you're taking Willy out at the knees, and in the next, you're making a fool of yourself over his co-worker. After losing so much of who you are, I can't believe blushing at the sight of a good-looking man is one of the few things that remain._ I fanned myself with my hand and tried to regain my composure. _And what about Dell?_

When the elevator door opened, a sight as welcome as a ray of sunshine in midwinter gave me a second wind and temporarily cast my thoughts to the back of my mind.

I found myself in the safest of all the so-called safe houses, the one in which I spent the majority of my time. Located on a secluded island somewhere in the Atlantic off Great Britain, it was where I was first sent shortly after Dell's accident. I grew to regard it as a home of sorts—or at least a place where I knew what to expect.

I eagerly stepped out of the elevator and dropped the suitcase onto the runner-covered wooden floor that led me down a hallway and out to a great lawn. A blanket of fog and sea mist slowly enveloped me while I filled my lungs with cool air and held it there, savoring its freshness. As I gradually exhaled, I was drawn to the cliff's edge, where an invisible ocean roared its greeting.

The fog, mixed with a cool breeze, felt like fingers running through my loosely held hair. I longed for it to be Dell's touch, to smell his musky scent overwhelming me as he cradled my face in his strong hands and drew my lips to his. I imagined my fingers melting into his soft, light brown curls as his hands traced their way to the small of my back, his muscles straining the fabric that tried to contain them.

The sting of tears, mixed with the misty air, sent streams down my cheeks to drip unhindered from my chin. _I didn't agree to this, Dell. We're supposed to be hiding in history together. Why did you leave me here alone?_

A crashing wave brought my attention back to the cliff's edge and the fact that it lacked a guard rail to keep me from plummeting to the jagged rocks hidden below. I wiped my chin and retraced my steps to the house, watching it fade in and out of focus behind the shifting fog. Its stone façade stretched the length of at least a football field somewhere in the white vapor, which also masked several Victorian spires, resembling broken pencils beneath the fog that hid their tips. Windows sprinkled along the multistory walls blended into the stone, reflecting only the morning haze. The craggy rocks and heather that surrounded the remainder of the house were nowhere to be seen in the ever-thickening fog.

I usually visited the house prior to or during 1908, and since it came without a name of its own, I referred to it as "The 1908 House." It may not have required a name, but I did, and the aboveground staff addressed me as "Lady Milton." I didn't mind; it had a nice ring to it.

What wasn't so nice, though, was the garment that met me at the door when I reentered the house. Although my location was secluded, I was still required to wear the proper clothing of the day, just in case. Among the garb was my nemesis, the ever-ill-fitting corset. Even though the house was staffed with H&S employees, precautions were always enforced to ensure time-period continuity, and that extended to my wardrobe. I mistakenly hoped the fog would hide the jeans and white T-shirt I was wearing, but I was wrong.

My lady's maid stood just inside the door, holding my new wardrobe and the Maude suitcase, and giving me the time-to-take-your-medicine look.

"Hello, Goodwin," I said. It had been several months since my last visit, and I was genuinely happy to see her, despite the corset.

Like all the staff, Goodwin was always dressed and pressed in black, her skirts just clearing the floor, and she wore a loose bun that held her brown hair in place near the crown of her head. Her quick smile softened her otherwise overly proper appearance that came complete with a British accent. "Milady, shall we?" She gestured toward the hallway and my doom.

We climbed the stairs to the familiar bedroom with its overstuffed canopy bed. The only somewhat-modern convenience was the attached bathroom that came complete with indoor plumbing. The French doors that led to the balcony and its usual view of the lawn and ocean beyond, now served as a barrier from the fog.

A coal-burning fire kept the chill from the air as Goodwin helped me don my outfit. Within minutes, I was wearing white stockings and a union suit that looked like a tank top attached to knee-length drawers, with ruffles at the shoulders and hems. Then I stood, and tried not to pass out, as Goodwin worked behind me, lacing my white cotton, boned corset. She attached the stockings to garters on the front of the corset and buttoned a pair of black Oxfords on my feet. The next layer was a fitted top, sleeveless and trimmed in lace, which covered the corset, and an attached petticoat that went to the floor. Then, she covered it all with a floor-length skirt and separate top made of white silk, lace, and enough buttons to render its removal impossible without assistance.

"Last one," she said.

"Good."

Goodwin let out a brief giggle. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it, milady?"

"No, it wasn't. Thank you, Goodwin."

But it really was. It had been almost two years since I first traveled to a time other than my own, yet I still found it difficult to adjust to all the fuss. The costume changes, hair styles, manners, and especially the staff were more than I could process at times. Before the ink on my college diploma had dried, I went from plugging quarters in dorm basement washing machines in 2012 to having a personal maid to dress me more than a century earlier. It was a bit much.

I reached for the hairbrush on my dressing table, but Goodwin beat me to it.

"Why don't I do that for you, milady?"

Granted, she was far better at doing my hair than I was, but at the rate I was going, I had no hope for improvement. From making my bed to making dessert, I was scolded at every turn.

"No, milady, allow me."

It was a staff conspiracy that extended to all the safe houses. I couldn't lift, lend, or offer a hand to save my life; that was ironic, because in my family, not working was an evil punishable by the humiliating and ever-frustrating, "Sit on your hands!"

"Sit on your hands, and watch how it's done," my maternal grandfather, Papa Bob, would say when I messed up. Nana Rosie's favorite line, if I complained about working, was always, "Poor thing! Sit on your hands, so you don't hurt yourself." Then there was Mom's dreaded, "Sit on your hands and think about it!" The only one who didn't make it a punishment was Maude, Nana's aunt, who liked to say with a wink, "Sit on your hands and listen to a story." Maude always had my back.

In the end, I was an overachiever with a vivid imagination, sitting on my hands so much they were losing circulation.

My lack of purpose, as well as the island's isolation, was driving me crazy. I wanted out. Since the majority of the house was surrounded by unpassable rocks and dense heather, I spent hours surveying the cliff from the lawn and upper floor windows, trying to find a path to the water and my escape. The only route was a slippery stone staircase that ended at a gated dock, where boats dropped off monthly supplies. The delivery process, although often unnecessary, lent authenticity to our seclusion. The dock was guarded by James Hogg, a burly man whose swollen nose told the world of his love for whiskey.

Hogg was the only one who stood between me and freedom.

I baited him for weeks with bottles of whiskey from the house stores, which the staff supposedly used for cooking. At first, I smuggled him a new bottle twice a week.

"Cheap, but it'll do the trick." James smiled, bearing a set of brown, rotting teeth as he uncorked the first bottle and took a drink. "Doesn't hurt to sample the merchandise."

After that first sip, he never questioned my motives.

"Much obliged, Lady Milton. It becomes lonesome on these waters in the spring, and I sures can use the company!" He looked longingly at the bottle as if I had just set him up on a blind date with a super model.

"Glad I could help!" I said with a smile.

After a few weeks of that, I was certain the staff would start to notice the sudden reduction in their whiskey supply. Therefore, when I wasn't outside, I was combing the dank basement for any sign of a wine cellar or some other cache of alcohol. Original to the house, the basement had an exterior entrance through a weathered wooden door, hidden within the stone foundation. Behind the door, an iron railing guided me down a series of flagstone steps into the darkness, where a maze of musty, unlit hallways crisscrossed beneath the house. Within a few days, my search was rewarded with the discovery of a small oak door with rusty iron hinges that creaked loudly as I pulled it toward me.

I waved the candle I was carrying at the stone floor, hoping to scare off any rodent friends living in the room. None emerged. "We're so far from civilization the rats haven't even found us." I surveyed the floor a second time. "Good thing. I'd just freak out and scare us both away."

With my free hand, I drew the long coat I was wearing around me, then stepped into the room. An initial survey by candlelight was all I needed. The space was filled, floor to six-foot ceiling, with shelves of alcohol, some still in crates. "Perfect!" I said, despite the musty stench that greeted me.

I wiped off a few of the bottles and saw dates as early as 1757. "Amazing! This would sell for a fortune on the internet." I scanned the rows of shelves for signs of whiskey.

Within a few steps of the entry, I found what I was looking for—a crate labeled "25 Year Old Pure Pot Still Whiskey."

I pulled out one of the filthy bottles and tried to blow off the dirt. Unfortunately, I was holding the candle too close and succeeded in blowing it out instead.

"Brilliant, Emily." I stood in the pitch-black room, completely disgusted with myself. Electricity wouldn't be installed in the house for decades, and I was fresh out of matches.

Fortunately, during my childhood, I was known as the "Queen of Hide-n-Seek in the Dark." None of my friends could ever find me, and I always made it to home base without being caught. I even had a crown.

With my title to back me, I licked my fingers and squeezed the remaining heat from the wick, then stuffed the candle and the bottle into my coat pockets. I felt along the shelves for the small door and found my way to the exit without much effort. The trip down the hall wasn't so uneventful, however, when I nearly knocked myself out on a low-hanging unlit lantern that swung dangerously from an overhead beam.

"Stupid thing!" I screamed in the dark. Rubbing my head only seemed to make it worse as I felt the charcoal from the candle wick transfer from my fingers to my forehead.

To avoid any further trauma, I held my left arm above my head to protect it and used the right one to feel the walls as I shuffled my way down the corridor to the staircase. When the blood began to drain from my left hand, I bent my arm at the elbow and rested my head on my forearm.

"Just call me Rudy." I tried to amuse myself with the thought of Rudolph Valentino and the cape he wore in his sheik movies. I grew up with Maude's vast library of old VHS tapes, recordings of films from the silent era that she played until the machine ate most of them. _I love silent movies! If I wasn't stuck on this stupid rock, I might be watching a few right now._ My mood soured even more as I worked my way to a small light that was coming from the staircase in front of me.

I emerged from the basement filthy, covered in dust, cobwebs, and candle soot, and blinded by the midday light. I felt less like Valentino and more like a vampire or a rodent. _I'm the only rat this place every produced._

I squinted back the light and half-ran inside and to my room, quickly closing the door behind me. "Phew!"

Since I was the only guest occupying its halls, the house was staffed with fewer than ten people, who mostly kept to their quarters except at dressing and meal time. Luckily, it was not one of those times.

Without the aid of yet-to-be-popular makeup, I attempted to explain the nasty bump on my forehead as a mishap with a falling branch. The poor gardener could only scratch his head as he wandered the grounds in search of the offending tree and its wayward offspring.

My next trip to the cellar was made with several candles, deposited like bread crumbs along my pathway. I even lit a few of the lanterns I passed, with the exception of the one with which I had previously collided. It was easy to find; it was the only one that had come unattached from the beam that held it, precariously hanging upside down by a single nail. "Jerk," I said every time I passed it.

I spent several days sharing bottles of watered-down whiskey before finally letting my friend, Mr. Hogg, enjoy a nice bottle of the twenty-five-year-old Irish whiskey, which I delivered right after lunch.

"Anything, anytime, anyhow, Lady Milton. Just let me know what you need, and it's yours!" He wiped the liquid from his chin as he eagerly gulped another swig from the bottle.

He was mine.

I had a perfect view of his shack from the cliff above. The bottle was empty by the time the kitchen staff had cleaned the lunch plates and were preparing for dinner.

_They won't miss me for hours!_ I hoped, anyway.

I carefully descended the cliff stairs one at a time, holding the cold iron railing in one hand and another dusty bottle of the basement's finest in the other.

When I finally reached the bottom, I stared at the water with only one regret: "I wish I hadn't caught a cold and dropped out of swimming lessons when I was five."

Although I couldn't swim a stroke, I could row—or at least I hoped I could as I looked at Hogg's emergency boat rocking gently against the dock to which it was tied.

I adjusted my dress and walked, bottle in hand, to the guard shack and the snoring man who inhabited it. Empty bottles greeted me as I stepped inside and placed the one I was carrying on a table near the door. "He won't even notice the missing boat when he wakes up to this," I whispered, turning the "1865 Irish Whiskey" label toward him and dusting it off with my fingers.

I watched him sleep while I carefully reached across him to free two oars from their posts along the wall. I held my breath as I succeeded in grabbing the first one, but just before I had my hand on the second, a wave hit the dock and caused one of the empty bottles to roll across the floor of the shack and collide with another bottle.

I froze.

When the wave subsided, so did the clanking bottles on the floor. Mr. Hogg didn't even flinch. Relieved, I quickly grabbed the second oar and left the shack for the small boat.

The first few yards of rowing were the most difficult as I tried to gain enough distance from the dock that the boat wouldn't be sent crashing back into the rocky cliff. My arms felt like wet noodles by the time I made it beyond the breakers.

When originally formulating my plan, I noticed that there was no clear view of my destination from either the dock or the house above. Anxious to get off the island, I decided it was worth the risk, so I kept rowing, pushing the boat in the direction from which the people delivering food would arrive in two weeks. My back was to the uncharted course as I fought the current and my corset to widen the gap between myself and the island. I rounded the cliff to one side and soon lost sight of the house, which gave me a chance to look behind me at the route I would have to take.

Far in the distance, I saw a sliver of land with a blinking light at one end. I could only stare in disbelief.

"Great," I finally muttered. The disappointment was overwhelming as I calculated the gulf that separated my little boat from the distant shore. "It must be at least twenty miles away! It will take me days to get there if the current doesn't send me somewhere else first."

I scanned the horizon for a different, closer sign of land, but I couldn't find one.

I sat rocking in the little boat for several minutes, trying to think of a workable Plan B before I finally admitted there was none. Defeated, I pulled in the oars and held them as I lay back in the boat, staring up at the slightly overcast, bird-filled sky. "God, I'm so stupid!"

The seagulls overhead seemed to reply, _No argument here. Duh-duh-duh._

I tried to ignore them but couldn't contain my frustration. "Now what?"

The gulls failed to respond; rather, they appeared to lose interest and simply flew away.

"Whatever!" I offered at their departure, lying in an ever-growing puddle of sweat and self-pity.

"No wonder the deliveries come in bigger boats...with motors on them. Maybe I can fashion a sail with this stupid corset I'm wearing! I think it's made out of whale bone or something."

At that point, the sound of the rocking boat seemed to mock my poor decision as well, offering _lap-lap-lap_ against the wooden sides.

"God!" I screamed at the universe. I knew my only option was to turn the small boat around and try to make it back to the dock alive.

Once I was close, I drifted just outside the breakers for several minutes, trying to determine what kind of wave would safely deliver me to the dock without destroying my boat and me in the process.

It took several minutes of concentration before I realized that the roaring crash of foaming waves, a constant reminder of my mortality, periodically took a break. The pause was only long enough to allow a rolling wave or two to take the place of the brutal ones, but it was just the opportunity I needed. After several minutes spent watching for the least foamy set, I finally rowed as hard as I could toward the dock.

Somehow, it worked.

Unfortunately, by the time I tied up the boat, I was completely exhausted. I set both oars on the dock and crawled out of the boat, barely finding the strength to roll myself onto the wooden planks and close my eyes. I lay there for several minutes, grateful for the sliver-filled dock below me.

"Think of that one on your own?" asked a male voice that was all too familiar.

I squeezed my eyes closed tighter as if that would block out all sound.

The planks creaked beneath the approaching footsteps. They stopped within a few inches of my feet, and a shadow covered my face as I continued to hide behind my eyelids.

He took a seat on the dock next to me, laughing hysterically.

I slowly opened my eyes just in time to see him blowing his nose into a white handkerchief. The top of his light brown head was unmistakable; it was an unfortunate shade lighter than Dell's. "Hello, Shane," I mumbled.

"Oh, Em, you never disappoint!"

I stared at the younger, less appealing version of my husband and exhaled in disgust. "Speaking of disappointing, why are _you_ here instead of Dell?"

"Nice try, Lady Milton, but in this house, _I'm_ the lord of the manor."

"Excuse me?" I sat up, quickly forgetting about my tired body.

"Yes, my dear, I'm Lord Milton."

"No, you're not. Dell is!"

He grinned and shrugged. "Tomayto, tomahto."

"What?! You have to be kidding me!"

"Would I kid my lovely bride?" He wiped his eyes and returned his handkerchief to his pocket.

Then, an especially loud snore drifted out of the guard shack.

"Hmm. I hear your partner in crime." Shane stood and walked over to the source of the noise and emerged, holding the bottle of whiskey. "And, I see you've found my stash."

I just stared at him.

He walked toward me with the bottle, grabbed the oars from the dock, and hung them in their rightful resting spots. Then he returned to my side, extending his free hand down to me. "Milady..."

I was too tired to argue, so I let him help me up.

He held my hand until we reached the stone staircase, and he walked close behind me to keep me from falling backward while I slowly dragged my exhausted body to the top. It was humiliating.

So much for my escape...

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# About the Author

**DENISE LIEBIG** is the author of _Dear Maude_ , _For the Love of Maude_ , and _Forever Maude_ , the books of the _Dear Maude Trilogy_. A true fan of historical fiction, she spends her free time researching historical events and writing about the possibilities. Denise also enjoys spending time with her husband and three kids at home in Nevada.

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# Acknowledgments

**THANK YOU TO** my wonderful first editor and good friend, Rocky; without his help and encouragement, _Dear Maude_ might have just faded away into the history surrounding it. I'm also grateful to Laurence O'Bryan, for helping to thicken my skin and cut a few chapters in the process; to Autumn Conley and Delen Goldberg, for working with my words; and those at The Book Khaleesi, for making it all look good.

And to my family, friends, and fans of my work, whose encouragement means so much to me...

**THANK YOU** **!**
