“What do you plan to do?”
“I will delay as long as possible. Try to convince him I am not worthy of pursuit. And persuade Mother Wells to take me back to New York.”
A noise on the street caused both of us to pause. I strode to the edge of our home and saw it was simply an overturned cart.
When I returned to Mama, she still sat on the bench, her dirty hands pressing down on either side of her, deep in thought.
“Mama,” I said tentatively. I could recall all the times I had asked for help leaving my other path, and each time she hadtold me why it was impossible. But this time I needed her to find a way. “You’ve often told me that if I ever try to change history, I will forfeit my life in this path.”
Her gaze lifted to mine, and concern tightened her eyes. “Aye.”
“What about changing the history in my other path? If I intentionally try to change something in 1914, I could forfeit that path, could I not?”
“Libby.” She rose to her feet, her concern deepening. “It’s not worth the risk. The stories my marked mother told me about time-crossers changing history are alarming. It could have catastrophic results, not only for you, but for the world.” She took my hand. “Besides, how would you know what to change?”
“You lived beyond my 1914 path. Mayhap you could help me find a way to alter something.”
Mama’s eyes grew wide. “What you’re asking me to do would not only affect you—it could affect me. If I gave you the information, I would be changing history just as much as you.” She shook her head, her white cap securely in place. “I don’t know what that would mean for me. It might forfeit my life in this timeline, and then who would be here for Rebecca and Hannah?”
I had not considered that possibility.
“The few things I’ve told you about my life in the late twentieth century could not possibly affect your life in the early part of the century.” She squeezed my hand. “But there are many things I have not told you about wars, pandemics, economic depressions, Prohibition, civil unrest—things I learned in history class that have yet to happen in your other path. I have purposely spared you so that you would not unknowingly change the course of history. To do otherwise would risk both of our lives.”
My heart sank. “Then I’m trapped.”
“Until June 19, 1915, aye.” Mama’s voice filled with compassion.“Believe me, Libby, if there were a way out, I would have found it for you years ago. You must endure until your twenty-first birthday, just as I did.”
Endure? Mama had never complained about either of her paths. She had spoken so highly of her life in the 1990s that I had always known it was hard for her to forfeit her life there in order to stay here. Yet she took such pride and had such passion living in Williamsburg on the eve of the American Revolution. What had she been forced to endure? Or had she misspoken?
“Keep up your guard,” she continued, “and delay as long as possible. That is your only course of action.”
“Anyone at home?” a male voice called to us from the side of the house.
It was a voice I would recognize anywhere, at any time.
“Henry,” I said to Mama. I lifted the hem of my skirt and moved around the flowerbeds to meet him.
Henry walked toward the back garden, his tricorne hat beneath one arm, a leather satchel in his hand. I paused, admiring the cut of his waistcoat and the way the evening sun made his eyes sparkle—or mayhap it was the smile he offered me, so warm and inviting, that I admired the most.
“I hope I am not disturbing you,” he said when we came to a stop along the side of the house. Heat from the day still radiated off the bricks, but it was the purpose and excitement in his gaze that warmed me the most. “I saw that you are closed, but I have urgent news to deliver.”
“Public news?”
“Aye.”
I motioned to Mama, who joined us.
Henry bowed. “Mistress Conant.”
“Good afternoon, Henry.” Mama kept her dirty hands behind her back, and her smile was welcoming, if guarded. She knew where Lord Ashbury stood on patriotic matters, but shewas uncertain of Henry. And even though I tried to assure her of his dedication to the cause, she wasn’t as willing to trust him.
“What can we do for you?” I asked.
He opened the leather satchel and pulled out a piece of paper, which he handed to me. “The burgesses voted today to stand with Boston. We are calling for a day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer on the first day of June and are asking you to print a broadside to be distributed throughout the colony, posthaste.”
I stared at the document, signed by Henry as the Clerk of the House of Burgesses. I read it out loud. “‘This House being deeply impressed with Apprehension of the great Dangers to be derived to British America, from the hostile Invasion of the City of Boston, in our Sister Colony of Massachusetts Bay, whose Commerce and Harbour are on the 1st Day of June next to be stopped by an armed Force, deem it highly necessary that the said first Day of June be set apart by the Members of this House as a Day of Fasting, Humiliation, and Prayer...’”
“We are also asking for members of the house, and those in the capital who so choose, to meet at Bruton Parish Church at ten in the forenoon for prayers and an appropriate sermon given by Reverend Mister Price.”
