“Please,” I said, “if you want to tell us more, contact Isaac Abbott, and he will get word to us. We won’t tell anyone what you’ve said.”
Ann shook her head and closed the door as soon as we were outside.
It was clear she wanted us gone, though I had a hundred more questions.
This changed everything.
8
HOPE
MARCH 23, 1912
HARDELOT, FRANCE
The tramcar was crowded with families heading to the beach for Easter vacation. My ears rang with the shrieks of excited children, reprimands of overwhelmed parents, and grumblings of crabby grandparents. There were so many of us packed into the tramcar, Luc, Grace, and I could not find a place to sit. We had been standing for over an hour and a half, since leaving Boulogne, changing cars once to reach the famous resort town of Hardelot.
In moments like this, when I could not talk about my upcoming flight with Luc, my mind traveled back to Salem. I still couldn’t believe what Ann Pudeator had told us. Our mother hadn’t died in childbirth. But how had she died?Whenhad she died? Was she hanged as a witch as Susannah had claimed? Grace and I didn’t even know who to ask, and once Father and Susannah returned to Salem, we didn’t have the ability to travel to Ann again. Even if we did, I doubted she’d tell us more. Itried to put it out of my mind as much as possible—though Grace wouldn’t let it go so easily.
“You’ve been to Hardelot before?” I asked Luc, who stood sandwiched between two rambunctious little girls playing peekaboo around him. He was smiling at their antics, allowing them to continue, even after an hour and a half of weary traveling. He joined in from time to time, moving to one side or the other, surprising the little girls and making them giggle.
It was a side of Luc I’d never seen before. He was playful, even in a crowd of people—though they didn’t know his identity. What would happen if I told everyone he was the famous aviator Lucas Voland? He was an international hero—but here in his home country, he was a legend.
Grace stood behind Luc, watching the little girls. Since the morning of Father’s wedding, neither of us had brought up Luc’s name in 1692 again. But to Grace’s credit, she did appear to be more friendly with him. She was polite—almost too polite—and tried to engage him in conversations, when necessary. But she still regarded him with caution, which was painfully obvious to me—and probably obvious to Luc, as well. He treated her with the same politeness, answering her questions, though he only spoke to her when required.
When we arrived in London, Luc had traveled ahead to Paris with no time to lose. While he met with Louis Blériot to arrange the use of an aeroplane, Grace and I had met with the editor of the LondonDaily Mirror. After telling him who we were and why we had come to Europe, he had agreed to hire Grace as theMirror’s representative for my flight.
It was her first international job.
After we joined Luc in Paris, he had told us that Louis Blériot’s monoplane—the one I would use—was in Blériot’s hangar in Hardelot where he summered. Luc recommended I test-fly the aeroplane before we had it shipped to Dover, England, for the flight.
So nine days after arriving in Europe, we found ourselves on a packed tramcar to Hardelot, watching Luc entertain children. I was anxious to test-fly the Blériot. We only had eighteen days before theTitanicwould depart, and I didn’t want to miss our opportunity.
“Luc?” I asked, trying to gain his attention.
“Oui?”
“You’ve been to Hardelot?” I asked him again.
He finally looked away from the little girls. “No.”
I frowned. Hardelot was a popular seaside resort town a hundred and sixty miles north of Paris. “You didn’t come as a child with your family?”
“No,” he said again but did not expound. Instead, he returned his attention to the children.
My frown deepened. I had assumed he was from a wealthy family because he spoke flawless English and was a pilot. Flying was an expensive endeavor. Perhaps I had been wrong. But every time I asked him about his past, he brushed aside my questions, just like now. Why didn’t he want to speak about it? What was he hiding?
One of the little girls tried to move around Luc, but he blocked her, making her laugh. She fell backward into Grace, who caught her and smiled down at the child.
“Merci,” the little girl said with more giggles.
Grace glanced up and caught Luc’s eye. He smiled at her, and she returned the smile.
My heart soared at that small gesture. It was a start.
Children weren’t drawn to me like they were to Grace, and I tried not to feel jealous as the girls included her in their game. It wasn’t that I didn’t like children—they were fine. Some of them were even cute. I had thought about having my own children, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to pass on my time-crossing gift. Not all children born from time-crossers carried the mark, though. Mama had a brother and sister in her 1941 path whoweren’t marked. But I didn’t know if I was willing to take the risk. Maybe if I had only been given one path, the idea of having children wouldn’t feel so daunting.
Darkness had fallen on Hardelot by the time we pulled into the station. Grace and I had left our steamer trunks in Paris and only brought essentials in the bags we now carried.
