The man ducked behind the tree, though I could still see part of his body.
“Where?” Seth asked.
“Right there, behind that tree. He had a camera and was taking pictures of us.”
“I doubt it. It’s too dark to see anything, anyway.”
“It’s not that dark yet. How long has he been there?” I felt violated. We were enjoying a quiet moment—a private moment—and the photographer had probably captured every bit of it.
How had he known who we were? Was it some weirdo just photographing people in the park? Or was it a journalist who had been passing by and saw Seth and me? The gossip columns were feasting on our time together. It wasn’t until the pictureswere published that I even knew we were being watched on our outings—just like now. But this wasn’t a major event or destination. It was a park. How had they known to look for us here?
“Who is it?” I asked Seth.
“What does it matter?” He shrugged. “Probably another gossip columnist.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that they’re following us?”
He shrugged again. “It’s good publicity.”
“I don’t need publicity.”
“Because your job isn’t dependent on public perception or popularity. I need all the publicity I can get.”
For the first time, I wondered if Seth was seeing me because of the attention we received. Being part of the youngest power couple in DC was good publicity—for him.
But I didn’t want to assume the worst. Seth seemed to genuinely like me. Maybe the publicity was a by-product of our relationship.
“I should get home,” I told him, starting to stand.
“Really?” He sounded disappointed. “Want to take a stroll through the park first?”
“No. I need to study tonight. I can’t put it off any longer.”
He sighed but stood up so I could fold the blanket and tuck it into the picnic basket. As we left the park, he glanced behind us, though I couldn’t see what he was looking at.
The closer we came to home, though, the less I worried about whether or not Seth had told a photographer where we would be and when. All I could think about was tomorrow and whether or not I would wake up in 1861.
16
JULY 22, 1861
WASHINGTON, DC
My mind slowly came to consciousness, but I didn’t open my eyes. For a few seconds, I just lay in bed, wondering what I would see when I finally had enough courage to look at the room around me. Would it be my bedroom on Lafayette Square in 1861, or would it be the dorm room at the Naval Medical Center in 1941?
With as much nerve as I could muster, I lifted my eyelids and took in the scene.
A canopy bed stretched overhead, and a feather tick mattress cushioned me.
I was in 1861.
It took all my willpower not to shout for joy, though I did spring from the bed, tossing my covers aside as I raced to the window—just to make sure.
A carriage drove by on Lafayette Square, headed toward St. John’s Church. The blue sky spread out over the rooftops and trees, and soft white clouds drifted by.
Slowly, I sank to my knees and clasped my hands together asI pressed them to my forehead. “Thank you, God,” I whispered, never more grateful than I was in this moment. “Thank you for not taking this away from me.”
My relief was so profound that I realized how much this path truly meant to me. The thought of losing it forever had weighed heavily upon my heart, but whether it was because I had thought I lost it or because it meant more to me than the other two, I wasn’t certain.
