“You can’t! You’re due any day now.”
Marguerite stills, turns to Iris, softness in her eyes. “Listen to me, Iris. Listen very carefully. I’ve seen the future. You’re going to be successful. You’re going to marry well—an English lord. You’ll travel the world with him. He’ll finance your art. You’re even going to meet Rossetti. You’ll have more children—children that you’ll get to see grow up. It will always hurt, giving up Victor, and you’ll always miss him, because a mother’s heart never forgets, but as you once told me, we must move on and try to find our happiness in the present.” Marguerite crosses to Iris, presses her forehead to hers. “My granddaughter and your nepheware going to meet someday, and they’ll fall in love, just like us. They won’t get along at first, but in time, they’ll see how much they need one another.” Marguerite bends to kiss Iris, long on the lips, making her gasp in surprise. “I’m so sorry for everything I put you through. The terrible secret you had to keep for me. What I made you do. You were one of the greatest loves of my life, Iris, the truest and best of friends.”
“‘Were’? What do you mean?”
Marguerite hoists the carpetbag over her shoulder, opens the window, and lingers on the sill for a moment, before turning one last time to look at Iris, her lips curving into a tender smile. “I love you, my darling. I’ll carry our memories for always.”
And then, with a flash of auburn hair lit by the setting sun, she’s gone.
Chapter 39
December 11, 1925
“Sadie. Sadie, wake up.” Beckett’s voice floats to me, as if through a tunnel. “You need to wake up. Something’s wrong with Marguerite.”
“What?”
“She’s had a seizure. A fit. I found her in the hall. Doc Gallagher just got here. It’s not looking good.”
“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”
“I’ve tried, several times.”
I sit up, my head pounding. The room swims before my eyes. I close them as a wave of nausea rolls over me. My tongue feels like a lump of dry clay. “Water.”
Beckett hands me a glass, his hand shaking. I see that he’s been crying, his eyes red around the edges. “Should we phone your aunt? Your brother?”
“No. Not yet. Let’s see what the doctor says first.” I wince as a lance of pain shoots through my temple. “Good God, my head hurts.”
The telephone rings, the shrill sound piercing my already painful head. Beckett rushes to answer it, then comes back a few minutes later. “That was Claire. She’s coming down on the train from Kansas City. She’ll be here tomorrow.”
The walls seem to shrink, closing in around me. “What did you say?”
“Claire. Marguerite’s sister.”
“Claire ... but Aunt Claire’s dead. She died in 1881.”
Beckett gives me a strange look. “She came to our wedding. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head when you fainted, darling?”
“Maybe I did.” I claw through my hair. The pain in my head is almost unbearable. “Could you bring me some aspirin? Please. I have a horrible headache.”
He returns a few moments later with a tin of aspirin. I take two tablets and down them with the rest of the water. I have no recollection of coming to our room. The last thing I remember is having a nosebleed in the powder room. Beckett mentioned that I fainted. Imusthave hit my head.
But I remember enough to know Aunt Claire is dead. I saw her die, with my own eyes, in the past.
At least ... shewasdead.
Was Marguerite truly able to change the past? Did she save Claire? And what about Weston?
I fling off the covers and stumble across the hall to Marguerite’s room. Dr. Gallagher sits at her bedside, taking her pulse. He glances up as I enter, eyes scraping over my disheveled appearance. “Mrs. Hill. Please sit down. I’ve got some news about your aunt, and it isn’t good, I’m afraid.”
I sit heavily at the foot of Marguerite’s bed. “What’s happened?”
“A cerebral hemorrhage. A stroke. A bad one.” He glances at Marguerite. “She’s in a coma now, which is for the best. She may linger for days. But she won’t regain consciousness.”
“She’s . . . she’s dying?”
“Yes. I’m very sorry.”
