“No.” I felt like I was going to be very sick.
Father lowered his newspaper and eyed me with concern. “What’s wrong?”
I folded my hands on my lap, trying to find the words. “I have some very important news, but I fear it will shock and upset you.”
I had their attention as they set aside their newspaper and letter.
“What’s happened?” Mother asked. “You look like someone has died.”
I needed to speak quietly so Ingrid wouldn’t hear. “I found a family member in Salem Village in 1727 who was a time-crosser. Her name is Hope Abbott.”
Both of my parents frowned at me, but neither one spoke.
“Hope told me about some of the time-crossing rules. She said that the birthmark on my chest is what marks me as a time-crosser. During supper, she told me that some of her children have the mark and others don’t. My mother in the 1700s had the mark, and her mother before her, and her mother before her. I don’t know how it started, but through the centuries, time-crossers have learned many of the rules that govern the gift.” I was talking fast, but I needed to get it all out. There was so much I had learned from Hope last night and so much more I wanted to know.
“This is all fantastical,” Father said. “Is it really true, Caroline?”
“I don’t know how, but it is.” I took another deep breath. “Hope also told me the hardest news of all. She said that on my twenty-first birthday, I must choose which life I want to keep and which one I want to forfeit. Whichever one I want to keep, I will stay awake there until midnight.”
“What happens to the other one?” Mother asked, engrossed in my explanations.
“My body will die in the one I don’t want to keep,” I said quietly. “My conscious mind will stay with the one I do keep—and that will be it. I will never cross time again.”
Neither one spoke as they stared at me.
“If what you say is true,” Father said, “then of course you’ll choose this one.”
I could no longer meet their gazes as I studied the fruit bowl in the center of the table. “I—I will choose 1727.”
The only sounds I could hear were Ingrid’s muted humming in the kitchen, the grandfather clock ticking in the foyer, and the rain tapping on the windowpanes.
“Don’t be absurd,” Mother finally said. “You cannot die here tomorrow, Caroline. I won’t have it.”
I finally looked up. “I’m sorry, Mother. But I’m in love with a man named Maxwell MacDougal in 1727, and he’s asked me to marry him. I’ve said yes.”
Her lips parted as Father straightened in his chair. “What’s this?” he asked. “A man has been courting you in 1727 and you haven’t mentioned him? What kind of a man is he?”
My hands trembled as I said, “He was a pirate, but he’s now a sinner saved by grace, Father.”
Ever so slowly, a smile tilted up the edges of his mouth. “I’m pleased to hear that.”
“How can you say that, Daniel?” Mother asked. “Our daughter has just told us she’s dying here tomorrow to marry a pirate!”
Father reached across the table and took my trembling hand. “Our God is timeless, Caroline, eternal. To Him, a day is like athousand years, and a thousand years is like a day. So whether you live in 1727 or 1927, your eternal home is in heaven with Him. It is your soul, and the soul of Maxwell, that most concerns me. I will miss you, but I know that we’ll meet again one day.”
“Is that all it takes to appease you?” Mother asked. “This is our only daughter.”
“She has never been ours, Marian.” He laid his other hand on his wife’s arm. “She’s a gift from God, ours for a short time. We’ve never had a guarantee that we’d have her forever. She could marry someone and move to Africa, and we’d never see her again. Her life is in God’s hands. And if this is what He is calling her to do, then we will have to make peace with that decision.”
I could see the struggle in Mother’s heart. It was written all over her face, but she was strong, and she would rally, as always. Father’s strength would be hers until she could muster enough on her own. I had faith in both my parents.
A noise on the step told us that Irene was about to join us.
“Let’s not ruin today with this news,” Father instructed. “We’ll invite everyone over to celebrate your birthday early, and you can say your goodbyes—but you won’t need to tell them it’s final.”
“Thank you,” I said as I took my hand back. It had not eased my pain, but knowing that Father would hold up the family put my mind at peace.
As the day progressed, I found joy in the simple things I wouldn’t have in 1727. Indoor plumbing, electricity, the telephone, and the automobile. We went on a drive through Minneapolis and into Saint Paul, and then came home for an evening with my family.
