. She felt his thumbs brush her tears. The almost imperceptible brush of his lips against hers. “I guess I’ll have to,” he whispered.
And she was alone.
Thirteen
The next morning dawned bright and clear. The morning of Tallulah Abbott’s wedding. The morning of the last day of her life, unless she could change history. She lay very still in bed, her eyes tightly shut. She had no illusions that she’d somehow managed to return to her own time and place. The bed beneath her was still too soft, the smell of cigarettes in the air was inescapable, and the bias-cut silk nightgown had slid around her body into an awkward, binding position.
Still, if she didn’t open her eyes she could put off the strange, mutated reality a little bit longer. It didn’t have to be her wedding day. The day she was going to die.
At that dismal thought her eyes flew open against her will. “It’s not your wedding day,” she said out loud. “It’s Tallulah’s. She’s the one who’s marrying the wrong man, she’s the one who’s supposed to die.”
And she was the one who was supposed to somehow stop it. What would happen if she didn’t? Would she die, as well, or would she simply be flung back into her own life? Did her own survival depend upon changing history? Or if she changed it, would she be stuck in it? Was this where she really belonged?
There were two people inside her body right now. Or inside Lou’s body. Her soul and Tallulah Abbott’s were inextricably entwined—she no longer knew which emotions were hers and which were Lou’s. Which were her memories and which belonged to her long-dead aunt.
Somehow she had become Lou, in heart and soul as well as body. Susan was disappearing, fading away, like morning mist when its greeted by a fiery sunrise. And there was nothing she could do about it Nothing she wanted to do about it.
There were other, more important issues to deal with on today of all days. It was just after seven in the morning, according to the loudly ticking alarm clock that was set to go off in another half an hour. Tallulah Abbott was due to marry Edward Marsden in an elaborate ceremony at St Anne’s Church at eleven o’clock this morning. If she was going to salvage the situation she’d better get going instead of lazing in bed pondering two women’s futures.
Mary Abbott was the key to it all. When it came right down to it, it was the children who mattered. Not just because they were the future. But because they couldn’t look after themselves, not completely. Someone had to be looking after them, and it was unlikely that either Elda or Ridley Abbott gave a damn about a nine-year-old girl’s future.
The baggy dungarees and Jack’s white shirt still hung in her closet She was half-surprised that Elda hadn’t sent someone in to remove the clothing on Neddie’s orders, but they were still there, still the most comfortable thing she owned. It felt different pulling Jack’s shirt around her body, knowing it was his. Feeling it like an embrace. She did it, anyway, this time not even bothering with sneakers, heading out into the early-morning chill barefoot and ready.
Mary’s room was empty. Her bed had been slept in, her striped pajamas lay in a heap on the floor, a sight which amused Susan. How many times had Mary lectured her daughter about hanging up her clothes and making her bed before she left her room? Obviously it was a hard lesson for Abbott women to learn.
Hattie was alone in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the paper. She looked up as Susan came through the door, her impassive expression almost hiding her worry. “Still wearing those clothes, Miss Lou? I can’t say as I blame you—this’ll be your last chance. Mr. Marsden won’t cotton to any wife of his wearing dungarees.”
Susan shivered, not sure if it was the cool morning air or a presentiment of a bleak, frozen future. “He’ll get used to it,” she said firmly.
Hattie shook her head. “I don’t think so, Miss Lou. He’s not the kind of man to make compromises.”
“Is he the kind of man to make me happy?”
“I think you already know the answer to that. You don’t need me telling you what your heart has already told you a dozen times.” She set the paper down, rising gracefully with her majestic bulk. “You want to take your coffee outside with you this morning?”
“Is there anyone lurking?”
Hattie chuckled. “Just Miss Mary, and I haven’t seen her for a while. If I know Mr. Marsden you won’t be seeing him until you get to the church. He’s the kind of man to pay close attention to tradition.”
“And my parents?”
“Still in bed. Sleeping off the effects of last night, I expect Anyone else you’re interested in?” The question was asked in an entirely bland tone of voice, but she wasn’t fooled. Hattie was possibly the wisest person in this household.
“Jack,” she said.
“Funny you should ask about him, Miss Lou. Mr. McGowan stopped by here no more than an hour ago, on his way to the early train to New York. He left a note for you.” Hattie pulled a crisply folded piece of white paper out of her apron pocket.
She stared at it for a moment, reluctant to pluck it from Hattie’s strong fingers. Her entire future, and that of her family, might depend on what was in that note. Did he tell Lou to marry Neddie and live happily ever after? Did he tell her he loved her, that he’d always loved her?
She took the paper and shoved it into her pocket with a nonchalant air. “I’ll read it later,” she said airily. “It’s probably just good wishes on my upcoming marriage.”
Hattie’s snort was both inelegant and expressive. “I raised you smarter than that, Miss Lou.” She turned back to the table, shrugging. “Let me know what you decide.”
“I wasn’t aware I had any decisions to make,” Susan said.
“And when did you get into the habit of lying to me?” Hattie demanded.
Susan took her coffee and fled.
