I nodded as I sat up to accept the breakfast tray she had brought for me. I didn’t have an appetite, but I needed to eat something for the baby, and I didn’t want to alarm Edith. The buttered toast was the only thing that looked appealing, so I nibbled on it while Edith put another log on the fire and then went to my dressing room to find something for me to wear.
It was hard to find any reason to get out of bed. A long and uneventful day spread out before me, and the weight of my grief threatened to send me into despair. The only comfort I took was in thinking about how Mama had gone through this very thing and how she had survived. One day this ache would dull and I would find joy and purpose in this life. I might even find a way to accept my marriage to Reggie. My heart would forever belong to Henry, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t be a good wife and mother. Mama had found a way. There was some consolation in that. I was not destitute nor desperate. I could find joy in helping through the war and in my work for social reform. And when the baby was born, I would take pleasure in being her mama.
I would put one foot in front of the other, remember to breathe in and out, and take one day at a time. I could survive this grief if I gave myself the grace to get through it.
“How about the grey one?” Edith asked as she walked out of my dressing room with one of the few gowns that had been altered to fit my growing waistline.
I nodded, smiling at my friend, thanking God that she was still a part of my life.
“What would you like to do today?” she asked. “Will you work in the conservatory?”
“I think I will.” I finished my toast and drank my tea, and then I allowed Edith to remove the tray so I could push the blankets off my legs.
Edith helped me dress and styled my hair. I sat at the vanity, my back straight, and looked in the mirror. I had not noticed how much I had grown to look like Mama. I could see her in my green eyes and in the slope of my nose. When I smiled, it almost felt like she was smiling back at me, and it lifted my spirits.
After Edith had left to take my tray downstairs, I slowly turned away from the mirror. The Virginia book still sat near the bed on the side table. I had avoided looking at it earlier, waiting for Edith to leave before I allowed myself the pleasure of opening its pages.
I retrieved the book, then held it against my chest as I grabbed a knitted blanket and went to the window seat overlooking the sea. The storm continued to blow, but I was warm and safe near the fireplace.
Wrapping the blanket around me, I curled up in the window seat and opened the book, wondering how much history I had changed with my actions. Nothing around me appeared different. The book had the same title,A Complete Account of America’s Sons of Liberty, Founding Fathers, and Fallen Heroes.So America had still won the fight for independence. I flipped through the pages and discovered that Peyton Randolph’s biography had not changed, and neither had Thomas Jefferson’s or George Washington’s. I didn’t notice anything unusual or strange.
I took a deep breath and turned to them’s. Leaving Mama three weeks early had broken my heart, but knowing it was worth the sacrifice allowed some joy to mingle with the pain. The hope I felt at what I would see lifted the corners of my mouth, and I began to read.
Henry Montgomery was a merchant, burgess, and American Patriot. He was born on August 16, 1750, at Edgewater Hall along the James River near Williamsburg, Virginia. Montgomery served as a spy for the Committee of Correspondence, first in Williamsburg, using his connection to Governor Dunmore, and then on two separate missions from Virginia to Massachusetts, gathering and sharing intelligence among the colonies to aid in preparation for war. It was on this second mission, at daybreak on June 17, 1775, during the Siege of Boston, that Montgomery was captured by the British army....
I paused as my eyes tracked over the words again to make sure I had read it correctly, but I didn’t understand.
Nothing had changed.
The book said exactly what it had said before I told Henry not to go on his mission.
I straightened, and the blanket fell off my shoulders and pooled at my waist. Didn’t Henry heed my warning? Had he still gone? But why, when he told me he wouldn’t?
Panic filled my chest, and I frantically flipped through the book to see if I had missed something important. Yet the book looked exactly the same.
I had tried to change history, and it hadn’t worked.
But if it hadn’t worked ... had I really forfeited 1775?
A strange sense of hope took hold of me, banishing the panic. If I hadn’t forfeited 1775, then that meant I would wake up there again tomorrow. Mama wouldn’t have to say good-bye to me yet, and I could still stop Henry—couldn’t I? Perhaps he hadn’t left Virginia yet. Maybe he had gone to Edgewater Hallwith his father and would leave in a day or two. I could go to him and convince him it was foolish to travel to Boston.
It wouldn’t be easy, and he’d be shocked to see me, but I had to try again and again, until he listened to me.
I stood, needing to find something to keep myself busy. It would be a long wait until I could fall asleep tonight and try again tomorrow. I could imagine Mama’s surprise when she woke up and found me still with her. It would prolong our inevitable parting, but it would be wonderful to spend one more day with her and the girls.
After I set the book on my side table, I left the room to work in the conservatory.
My heart was anxious to return to Williamsburg and find Henry. I had to stop him.
The next morning, it was still dark when my eyes flew open. It took a moment for me to fully wake up, but as my eyes adjusted, a sinking sensation filled my heart.
I was still in Cumberland Hall.
Perhaps it wasn’t yet midnight and I’d just awoken too early.
I pushed aside the covers, the chill of the room making gooseflesh rise on my arms and legs. The wool rug scratched my bare feet, and the rain still slashed at the windows.
Edith had banked the fire before she left me for the night, so there was a little glow to the coals. Just enough for me to make out the hands of the clock sitting on the mantel.
