There was something familiar in the cut of his shoulders and the confidence in his stride. He was tall, with dark brown hair under his grey fedora. His shoulders were broad, and his figure was trim. He wore a grey suit and carried a briefcase in one hand.
The closer he drew, the more my heart pounded and the less I believed what I was seeing.
At the edge of the backyard, he came to a sudden halt, and his brilliant blue eyes met mine with a stunned expression.
I was looking at Henry Montgomery, and he was looking back at me.
30
We stared at each other for a long time. The wind blew against me like a gentle kiss, but it all seemed like a dream. This couldn’t be Henry. Henry was long gone.
But he looked just like Henry, and the way he studied me, as if he were seeing an apparition, told me that he recognized me too.
We moved toward each other, seemingly drawn together by an invisible string. We met near the trunk of the elm tree, and I held my breath.
“Libby?” His voice sounded so much like Henry’s—and he knew my name. A frown tilted his brow as he shook his head. “Is it you?”
I couldn’t seem to find my voice, but I nodded.
“How? Am I dreaming?” He looked around the backyard and then turned his beautiful blue eyes on me again. “Are you truly here?”
“Henry.” His name finally released from my mouth on a breath, and I rushed into his arms.
He dropped his briefcase and wrapped me in an embrace so powerful, it took my breath away. I didn’t know why or howhe was standing here, but I didn’t care. It was Henry, and he was alive and well.
“Libby,” he said again as he pulled back and put his hands on my face. “My dear, sweet, beautiful Libby.”
“What is happening?” I asked him with a disbelieving laugh. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here to join a tour group with my father and the Rockefellers.”
“Your father?” I was so confused.
“Congressman Hollingsworth.”
“Congressman Hollingsworth?” I asked on a hushed breath. Did that mean ...? “You’re a time-crosser?”
His gaze was incredulous. “How do you—? Are—areyoua time-crosser?”
All I could do was nod.
“Until a year ago,” he said, “I lived both here and in 1775.”
“Until your death, you mean. You died in 1775.”
His eyes filled with an aching sadness. “You died in 1775, as well, Libby. I thought you were gone forever. I had no idea you were here too.”
I put my shaking hand to my head as I tried to make sense of this miracle.
He studied me, disbelief in his voice and gaze. “All this time, we were both crossing between the same years.”
“And we never knew.” I thought back to the first time I’d met Henry and how I’d felt drawn to him from the start. Our bond had been inexplicable, and now I knew why.
He drew closer to me. “I thought I lost you forever, Libby. You don’t know how I’ve mourned this past year. Your mother wrote a diary for you, but I’ve kept myself from reading it for years, not wanting to know what happened to you, afraid I would try to change history. But since you died, I have spent the past year reading every page, over and over again. I keep it in my office.”
“Your office?” I blinked several times. “You’re Dr. Hollingsworth—the professor who works at the College of William and Mary.”
He nodded.
