“I must return to the Raleigh. Will you save me a dance at the governor’s ball tonight?” he asked.
The ball. I had almost forgotten. Mama would be so pleased. “Aye.”
With that, Henry bowed and took his leave.
As I watched him walk back to the Raleigh Tavern, slipping his tricorne on his head, I couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy that I was not joining him and the others to make history.
The Palace Green was lined with torches as Mama and I walked toward the governor’s palace that evening, our hearts a little lighter at the news of the contract, though it would not solve all our problems. It was just Mama and me. Hannah and Rebecca were only eight and nine and were too young to attend. They had been left at home with Mariah, the enslaved woman Papa had bought for Mama upon their wedding twenty-one years ago. Mama’s twentieth-century mind abhorred slavery in any form, and she had worked tirelessly to have Papa free Mariah, butit wasn’t until Papa’s death that Mariah had finally been freed. Upon her freedom, she had chosen to stay with us as a hired servant and had married Abraham, a free black man, who served as our man-of-all-work. They were more like family than employees and lived above the kitchen in the yard behind our house.
Dozens of coaches lined the drive, filled with the wealthiest and most prominent citizens of Virginia. Over a hundred burgesses convened in Williamsburg each spring, and with them, wives, children, and servants. All of the best social events took place in the month they stayed in the capital. It reminded me of the social season I was currently enduring in my other time path in London, 1914. Just the thought of waking up tomorrow to face the daunting schedule Mother Wells had planned made my stomach turn.
“You know,” Mama said, “I can always tell when your mind is on your other life.”
I couldn’t hide much from Mama. She knew me better than anyone.
“Didn’t you find it hard to separate the two?” I asked her.
“I did,” she conceded.
“And don’t you still find yourself thinking about the 1990s?”
She was quiet for a moment as a sadness overtook her. Mama was also a time-crosser. Her second path had begun in the year 1973. Just like me, Mama had gone back and forth between her two lives for twenty-one years. She had chosen which one to forfeit and which to keep on her twenty-first birthday, just as I would, and just as all the other time-crossers in our family had done before us. We were each given just twenty-one years to choose.
Long ago, I had decided to remain forever in the 1700s, though I couldn’t make my final decision for over a year. I must endure my 1914 path for thirteen more months. I had no other choice.
“It’s been almost twenty-one years since I made my final decision,” Mama said with a sigh. “Of course I think about it fromtime to time. It took me years not to let words or thoughts from my other path slip into my conversations here. What would someone say if I told them to take a chill pill or said ‘as if’?” She chuckled and then sighed. “I often wonder what happened to my other mom and dad and siblings, but it all seems like a dream to me now. I’m supposed to be here to guide you and to help the American Revolution. I’ve been waiting for this all of my life.”
I knew exactly how she felt. We couldn’t change history, but we did know how it would play out.
We walked in silence past torches that flickered their shadows upon the ground. The sound of horses’ hooves clipped on the gravel, and a gentle wind blew through the tops of the trees overhead. I loved that Mama knew all about my other life. She was the only person I could talk to about my troubles. She understood my longing for the modern conveniences I enjoyed in 1914: the electricity, telephones, and automobiles. And she told me about the ones yet to come: televisions, computers, microwaves, and more. I marveled at human inventions, even if I struggled to understand them at times.
If anyone in 1774 ever heard us discussing such things, we’d be labeled lunatics—or worse. So we did not discuss our time paths with anyone else. Not even my little sisters knew about Mama and me—and neither had Papa. Rebecca and Hannah were not time-crossers, so there was no reason to tell them. Only those of us with the sunburst birthmark over our heart were time-crossers. From the stories Mama’s marked mother had told her, it had been this way as far back as anyone could remember. We knew there were others outside our family, but they rarely crossed our paths. My grandmother had met one in her second path, in 2022. She had known her from her marking, but they had not shared stories for fear of changing history.
Someday, if I had a daughter, she might or might not have the mark. There was no way of knowing. God was the Author of our lives, and only He controlled who bore the gift.
IfI ever had a child. I had not yet decided if I wanted to pass this gift on to another generation. Was it right to saddle a child with this kind of existence?
“Hold your head up, Libby,” Mama said, reaching out and taking my hand in hers. “And put aside your troubles for tonight. It’s not every day we get invited to the palace. You only have thirteen more months until your twenty-first birthday. We’ve navigated your other path thus far. There shouldn’t be any reason we won’t continue.”
Her words gave me hope and brought a lighter step to my slippered feet.
We arrived at the palace entrance and showed our invitation to the footman, who wore a soft blue livery, and then we passed through the reception room and entered the long hallway leading into the ballroom.
The palace was thick with Virginians laughing and visiting. I knew many of these people by name, though I would consider only a few of them my friends. Most had been subscribers to our newspaper since Papa had started it, though we had lost more than I’d care to admit after his death. I saw George Washington, as well as Thomas Jefferson, Patrick Henry, Peyton Randolph, and several other men whose names would be recorded in history books.
Thankfully, the nasty Mister Jennings wasn’t present.
“Mistress Conant and Miss Conant,” the footman announced as we stepped into the large blue ballroom. A few people looked our way, but most continued, unaffected by our arrival.
“There’s Mister Washington,” Mama said. “I must thank him for his support of our contract.”
I could have followed her, but I had spied someone else I’d rather speak to.
Henry.
He stood near one of the massive windows, a glass in his hand as he spoke to Governor Lord Dunmore and his wife,Lady Charlotte. Henry’s father, Lord Ashbury, and his mother, Lady Gwendolyn, also stood in the small group. Whatever the five of them were discussing, it looked rather grim, if Henry’s face was any indication.
“Have you heard the latest gossip?” a feminine voice asked close to my side.
