Could he leave everything behind and go into the future with her, not knowing what challenges awaited him? Yes. It had seemed so impossible back then. But he had since come to realize nothing was more impossible than trying to live without Livvy.
His heart started beating faster, radiating panic throughout his being. Maybe he had been too hasty. Too stubborn. He had let her go. She had asked him. Twice. She had almost pleaded.
And he had refused.
Dale doubled over, leaning his elbows on his knees, burying his head in his hands. “You are most definitely trying to torment me. I assure you, your help is unnecessary. I’m in enough torment as it is.”
Alasdair reached out, put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Will.. I shouldn’t have said that. I know how much regrets hurt.”
“You don’t know how much I’d wondered if I did the right thing. Now I’m convinced I messed up.” He was having difficulty breathing. “I should have done something different. God, if I could go back.” Dale leaned back in his chair and ran his hands over his face. “If I could just... but she is gone, and there’s nothing I can do. Even if I decided to go to her now, I can’t travel through time.”
Alasdair’s gaze was full of understanding and compassion. “No, nobody can. At least not in these times.” He shrugged despondently. “Must be nice for these Future People who can.”
The future people. Like a ray of sunshine through parting clouds, an idea shone through.
“The future... you are right. I can’t travel through time, but I know people who can. I just need to send them a message.”
“A message? How?”
Energized as he had not been in days, he sprang out of his chair under the perplexed stare of his cousin, who now probably thought he had lost his wits at last.
“You are welcome to stay, Alasdair. I need to go out now. See you later.” He dashed out the door.
Heart pounding from the run and what he was going to attempt, he stormed into the tools shed. He needed a pickax, or a chisel, preferably a chisel, but any object with a point would do. Maybe even a big nail. And a hammer. Yes, he also needed a hammer. He collected the objects and, saddling his horse, he took off at a gallop.
He started slowing down when the ruins came into view. Kalli had said this place still existed in her time, and that she visited it often. If he carved a message in the stone, would she see it during one of her visits? Would she be able or willing to help him if she did? He didn’t know. But this was the only possibility, his only chance.
Dismounting his horse, he stood in the same place where he had stood the day Livvy left. There was a wall to his right. It was one of the great load-bearing walls that used to hold up the roof, and it looked thick and solid.
Taking out his tools, he chose a space in the wall that was in relatively good shape, smooth and about eye level, and considered what to carve. He needed to send a message, but it couldn’t be too obvious. Innumerable people would see it throughout several centuries, so he needed to make sure it was neutral enough to not call undue attention, but clear and meaningful enough to the person for whom the message was intended.
The lines popped into his head. He tested them, adjusting them and, when satisfied, set the chisel to stone and started carving. He worked for over an hour, painstakingly engraving the letters in the hard stone. In the end, he stood back and admired his handiwork. There in the stone was clearly carved:
K
If Time could go backwards
To the moment I lost
I would leap through the times
To the woman I love
Avondale Dec 14, 1872
There. It was done. Now he just had to wait. It was a very remote possibility his message would work. The chances were slim to none. He couldn’t get his hopes up. The wall could fall, the message covered. The intended recipient might not see it, or if she did, she might not understand it or not be able to do anything about it. So many things had to fall in line. So many obstacles could arise. He was being a fool. His earlier elation left him and hopelessness set in.
He fought against it. He would not give up. He would not stop sending messages, each one more visible.
Until someone paid attention.
