Her smile disappeared when she saw my face. “Is something wrong?”
Edith was my best friend in this path. It didn’t matter to me that she was my lady’s maid. We had grown up together, and she had always been a trusted confidante. We were like sisters, when Mother Wells was not present, and I never insisted she treat me otherwise. She was part of my intimate world and therefore knew the ins and outs of my daily life—though she knew nothing about my time-crossing. I had wanted to tell her the truth so many times, but I knew she would struggle to understand.Istruggled to understand some days.
“Mother is determined to find me an English husband and saddle me with a title.”
Edith nodded. “I suspected as much.”
My mouth slipped open. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“How could you not know?” She took my gloves and frowned. “I didn’t think it necessary to state the obvious.”
“I would never have agreed to come if I had known.”
She lifted a brow lined with pity. “Did you really have a choice?” I hated seeing her pity—hated seeing the pity on the faces of the other servants when Mother Wells mistreated me. Of course, I didn’t have a choice. Once Mother made up her mind, there was little I could do to change it.
With an encouraging smile, she lifted a gown off the chair and presented it to me. “We’re here now, so we might as well make the best of it. What do you think of this dress for the luncheon?”
I shrugged, feeling exhausted, though the day was young.
“We have a bit of time.” She placed her hand on my arm and squeezed it. “Why don’t you have a quick lie-down?”
I nodded, wishing I could fall asleep right now and wake up in 1774, bypassing all the plans my mother had for me today. But if I fell asleep before midnight, I would just wake up in this same time and space. I never crossed over until after the midnight hour. If I stayed awake past midnight, as was common during balls and soirees, I would remain in this timeline until I fell asleep.
When I was little, I had tried to stay awake for as long as possible in the 1700s, hoping I could skip a day in my 1900s timeline, but it never worked. As soon as I fell asleep, I woke up the next day in the 1900s. There was nothing I could do to change my fate until my twenty-first birthday.
On that day, according to Mama, whatever timeline I wanted to remain in forever was the one I could stay awake in past midnight—and I would never wake up in the other again.
I could not wait to ring in the midnight hour on June 19, 1775, and never have to return to the twentieth century again.
3
WILLIAMSBURG, VIRGINIA
MAY 6, 1774
The following morning, I opened my eyes and let out a long exhale. A pink glow tinged the eastern horizon just outside my bedroom window, promising another beautiful day in Williamsburg. Beside me, Rebecca and Hannah cuddled on the large bed. Rebecca’s feet were wrapped around my legs for warmth. I turned onto my side, laid my arm across her shoulder, and caressed Hannah’s soft cheek. They were so sweet and helpless. A scar near Hannah’s eyebrow hinted at her penchant for climbing trees and jumping rocks in the streams near town.
I could not stomach the thought of Mister Jennings taking either one of them as an indentured servant. There were no laws to protect them from whatever he had in mind. I would lay down my life for them before I let that happen. Live out the rest of my days in the public gaol, if need be.
Or run the printing press, sacrificing all else, to ensure that the girls and Mama were safe.
Hannah opened her eyes and blinked away the sleep. At eight, she was precocious and curious. Her riotous blond curls refusedto be contained, and her dimples charmed even the crossest merchant on Duke of Gloucester Street.
“Morning, Libby,” she said with a contented sigh as her green eyes closed again and she seemed to drift back to sleep. Her complete trust in my ability to protect her and provide for her pierced my heart. What if I failed them? The harsh realities of life in the colonies were always close at hand.
“Wake up, little one,” I said to her. “You have chores to do, and then Mama will have you work on your sums.”
“Must I?” Instead of getting out of bed, she burrowed under the quilt even farther. “I’d much rather play make-believe and paint pictures today.”
I smiled, wondering what amazing things Hannah and Rebecca would do with their lives. They were both strong, independent girls. Mama, with her twentieth-century thinking, was quick to let them have their lead. She never squashed their ambitions or dreams—on the contrary, she put ideas into their heads that far surpassed anything I’d ever heard of women accomplishing in the eighteenth century.
Sometimes I questioned if Mama was doing a disservice to our hearts and minds when the world was not ready for our ideas. But time—and life—would take on a course of its own. God had not made a mistake by giving Mama or me this gift. Perhaps it was part of His plan for us to push boundaries in the eighteenth century long before the world was ready.
I tossed the quilt aside and rose to dress. Soon the girls were out of bed, and the three of us joined Mama in the sitting room for breakfast. Mariah had been awake for hours and had a warm meal on the table. A baked Indian pudding, pork sausages, and pickled beets awaited us. She was known as the best cook in Williamsburg. Though we had given her little to work with lately, she still found a way to fill our table with more than enough to eat. She had taught me everything I knew about cooking, though I rarely had time to put it to good use since Papa’s illness. I generallyspent Monday through Saturday in the print shop, from sunup to sundown most days, editing the newspaper. It went to print on Thursdays, which was the only day my work eased enough to help Mama with the girls.
“Please clear the table,” Mama said to Rebecca and Hannah the moment breakfast was done, “and then see if Mariah has any work for you in the kitchen this morning.”
Grumbling, the girls obeyed and were soon out of the sitting room.
